#the way im gonna have brain worms over this

[creatureblorg]

thoughts on dragon age absolution (spoilers ahead):

-qwyndion, roland, locklan, and miriam are all precious and i love them so fucking much. i want to give them all the hug that they so desperately need.

-i hope we get to see a little more focus on qwyndion, locklan and roland in the future. once they save the world they all deserve a fucking peaceful vacation. especially miriam, maker's breath. 😭

-"maker's tits" - qwyndion

-i love roland and locklan's chemistry theyre so fucking cute.

-the way hira sells miriam back to her fucking slave master?! she deserves nothing short of a painful death.

-the way that they wrote rezaren is so so disgustingly good. the entitlement, the smarmy confidence, the unfettered ambition, the disregard for human life. the way he couldnt understand that just bc he labelled neb and miriam as family didnt disregard the position of power and control he had over them. the way he flipped the script when his "kindness" was rejected clearly seen through. the way he disregarded everything miriam did with her freedom. yeah grade a villain, he sucks, thank you, i hate him.

-it was incredibly satisfying to watch neb outright ignore that fucker and get some final words with miriam.

-the circulum is an ouroboros. i wonder if that has any meaning outside of the symbolism of the cycle of abuse.

-whats gonna happen with tassia?? i think that a redemption arc is a possibility, although i kind of think it would be more interesting if they went full villain with her, let her faith in systems and institutions, and her blind rage lead her to do more and more challenging things to her moral compass while on the path to destroy the circulum, no matter the collateral damge. not to mention how messy the chain of command could get with how hira claims theres templars in tevinter already being corrupted by the crimson knight!! but i think its far more likely that theyll go down the route of "enemy of my enemy is my ally" having her eventually team up with team miriam to destroy the circulum. i guess its not out of the question that we get a little bit of the villain arc > redemption??

-meredith is "alive". we've seen something similar to this happen with red lyrium before. but damn, lemme tell you her voice actor is so damn impactful. like, i had to google merediths name bc i couldnt remember it, but i recognized that voice immediately conjured an image meredith in my head as she spoke. thats some damn good acting.

anyways, im absolutely feral for more immediately right now pls.

[sashthesloth]

I'm going to rotate them in my mind.. the angst potential for my poor poor Rook . .... .

[starjunkyard]

"Im not even sure anymore if we get to choose who our friends are" There is a part of me that resents you for making me a worse person than i want to be but i am inexplicably uncontrollably drawn to you. You make me a worse person which is the last thing i want yet i want you in every way. If i could leave i would. Maybe i can but i dont want to. I have fun with you. You challenge me and you captivate me and you push me and pull and run circles around me and it makes me feel like a younger man. For the price of being a worse person i get to feel truly, wholly alive. You are the blood that runs through my veins; vital, inseparable. I was reborn when i met you and you are the womb that haunts me. You are the one person on planet earth who knows me. I wish i could leave, move on and be the man im supposed to be but my heart is tied to yours in a gordian knot. There is a part of my soul that rests in yours, magnetic. For as long as i love you i cannot be better than i am. But maybe thats something i can learn to live with. Gregory House-- I think you're worth it.

[swordmaid]

thalia is so growing on me i love my rich woman who has Problems.. i gave her ice powers for like. the elsa vibes.

[fulgurbugs]

I found your blog an hour ago but I already love it. your humor is so good, your art is so good, your taste is so good. Barty boy supremacy !!

barto supremacy!! and tysm, i just got a huge uptick in notes on my one piece stuff so i’m glad people are liking it!

[megalony]

All These Kids

This is my newest Eddie Diaz imagine, based on two requests I've merged together, it's rather long but very fluffy. I hope you will all like it, let me know what you think.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @gillybear17 @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29

Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: Eddie and (Y/n) have a soccer team of kids together, who they introduce to the 118 team.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dad- hang on a second." Tilting her head down to the left, (Y/n) looked down at her daughter with raised brows and a smile. She pressed her hips up into the counter and waited patiently for Evie to tell her what she wanted.

But the three-year-old just held her hands up towards the phone with grabbing fingers and a sweet, toothy grin. She knew who was on the phone.

"I think I'm gonna have to pass you over. Go talk to grandad then." She leaned over and held her phone out towards Evie who clapped before she took the phone. The confusion was clear on Evie's face. She was so used to talking to her grandparents over Facetime, she wasn't used to simple phone calls anymore.

But she quickly worked it out and pressed the phone to her ear with a wide grin as she turned around. "Grandad!" Evie toddled out of the kitchen, taking (Y/n)'s phone along with her to where Chris, Finn and Nate were playing a game in the living room.

(Y/n) smiled to herself and put the kettle on to make a drink. At least she had talked to her dad for a while this time rather than a few seconds before the kids came and took the phone from her. Every time he was on the phone, all four kids seemed to sense it and take the phone to talk to him.

They were even worse if Eddie was on shift, especially an evening shift. If he missed bedtime, (Y/n) usually had to Facetime him so he could say goodnight to the kids.

Thankfully, (Y/n)'s job meant she could work from home and only had to visit the office once or twice a fortnight. She could work while the kids were at school and always be there to pick them up or stay home with them if they were sick and couldn't go to school.

So it didn't matter if Eddie wanted to do a mixture of day and night shifts or if he did a long stretch of double shifts. (Y/n) was usually able to look after the kids and Eddie did a lot of double shifts so he got a lot of bulk time off at home with his family.

Leaning forwards, (Y/n) folded her arms on the counter and arched her lower back out while she waited for the kettle. But just as it clicked, a grin wormed its way back onto her lips when she felt a familiar set of arms curve around her waist.

She straightened up and moved forwards until her hips and abdomen were pressed into the counter and she felt Eddie press up behind her. His chest moulded around hers like a blanket and his hands gave her hips a squeeze while he tilted his head down. His lips attached to her neck and made a shiver course down (Y/n)'s spine and tingle down to her arms.

"Hi babe," She reached her hand down to give Eddie's wrist a squeeze while she leaned her head against his.

"You got something you need to tell me?" Eddie's words were soft and low as they vibrated through (Y/n)'s neck.

Those words made her heart race and she nuzzled her nose into his hair, trying to rack her brain to think what he meant by that. His words weren't daring or annoyed, they were quite the opposite which made (Y/n) even more dazed. She couldn't think what he was referring to.

She didn't have anything to tell him, did she? Nothing significant had happened. She hadn't told Chris, Finn or the twins anything or any secret surprise for Eddie that they could have let loose.

"I… I don't think so. Why, should I?"

When Eddie bit down on her neck, (Y/n) pressed her lips together so she didn't make a sound. But she knew he felt the deep breath she took, especially when he dragged his tongue across the mark he'd just created.

She stayed still while Eddie curved his left arm around her waist, tugging her back as if the tiny membrane of space between them was far too much. His chest tensed up against her back and his face stayed tucked into her neck with his nose brushing across the side of her jaw like a feather.

(Y/n) almost closed her eyes until she felt Eddie's right arm move over her hip and he placed something down on the counter in front of her.

"Are we expecting a new arrival?"

Eddie dragged his lips up (Y/n)'s neck, across her jaw and around until he was hovering over her lips. He pecked her lips once, then twice, then again until (Y/n) almost forgot what he'd even asked her.

She kissed him again, cupping the side of his face with her right hand before Eddie finally pulled back and looked down at the counter.

He'd been a little more than surprised when he looked in the bathroom cabinet and found a pregnancy test which he knew hadn't been there last week. He could still remember each of the other three times she'd told him she was pregnant.

Eddie had been about to head back to the army for another tour when (Y/n) gave him a baby grow for his birthday and said they were expecting Chris. And when Chris was four, he gave Eddie a small box for father's day with a pair of baby booties in and a positive test. He remembered the way he'd almost collapsed at their first scan when they found out they were having two babies, not just one.

Eddie had been more than in love with the way (Y/n) looked and changed when she was pregnant.

The last time (Y/n) was pregnant Eddie had figured it out before she told him. He started to notice the signs, she had been really sick during the first few months when they were expecting Evie. And it had been uplifting to finally have a girl that time after three boys.

He leaned back a little so (Y/n) could turn around his arms so she was facing him. When her hands moved to cup his face and smooth across his jaw, Eddie glided his hands down from her hips to grab the back of her thighs. He lifted her up and slid her back onto the counter, moving so he was stood between her legs that instantly wrapped around his waist and squeezed him tight.

"Mi amor?"

"I think so, I haven't had chance to take the test yet." (Y/n) looped her arms around the back of his neck and leaned her forehead against his.

(Y/n) didn't like to tell Eddie if she thought she was pregnant, just in case it turned out she wasn't. She thought that if she was, she would surprise him again like she did with Chris and then the twins. But she hadn't found the time to take the test yet, it had been sitting in the back of the bathroom cupboard while (Y/n) tried to get some time and courage to do it.

"You know you've kind of ruined the surprise if I am." She knew she should have done it as soon as she bought the test. (Y/n) didn't like just coming out with it or having Eddie work it out like he did with Evie, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to try and make it a surprise and something special.

"We don't technically know yet, so go take the test and surprise me."

He leaned his temple against hers as his hands wormed beneath her shirt and splayed out across her back.

They hadn't exactly talked about having more kids. They always said they wanted kids together. Finding out about Chris was the reason they got married so quickly and Eddie didn't do anymore tours in the army after Chris was born. He couldn't bear to be separated from his family anymore.

Having twins had been a big surprise but they had coped amazingly well with double trouble and looking after Chris. And Evie had been a very welcomed gift and (Y/n) knew Eddie had been ecstatic about finally having a little girl to spoil.

"Eager?" (Y/n) whispered against his lips as she tightened her legs around his hips and pulled him closer until his groin bumped into hers.

"Yeah. I miss you being pregnant, and how small Evie was when she was born." Eddie wasn't ashamed to admit it. He was always attached to (Y/n) at the hip when she was pregnant. And he missed having a baby in his arms. Evie had been two months early and she had been so tiny that she didn't even fit the length of Eddie's arm.

He loved having his tiny little girl wrapped up in his arms or snuggled down on his chest. He used to call her his little doll because of how little she cried and how tiny and porcelean she looked.

When his lips curved up into a smile, (Y/n) closed the gap between them and smothered his lips with hers.

(Y/n)'s fingers reached up to tangle in the short hairs at the back of his neck and when she gave a sharp tug, she swallowed up the groan Eddie let out. She could feel herself smiling against his lips and she used her legs to pull him closer. Sliding herself onto the edge of the counter so she was almost sitting on Eddie's hips.

"What if it's negative?" Her lips barely parted from his to ask what was playing on the back of her mind.

(Y/n) had been thinking and thinking about this and built herself up with the thought that she probably was pregnant. If the test was negative (Y/n) knew her mood was going to deflate and Eddie's would too which was why she didn't want to tell him unless she was certain.

"Then I can help with that," His hands slid down from under her shirt and in one quick swoop, he held her by the thighs again and pulled her onto his torso. "We can always try for a baby this time, you know."

The twins had been somewhat planned and Evie was a complete surprise, but there was nothing stopping them from planning to have a baby this time if the test was negative.

"Really?"

"Hm. I don't think we'll have to try too hard, either."

Pulling back, (Y/n) trailed her lips down to Eddie's jaw when he turned around. But she quickly pulled away and looked over her shoulder when Eddie stopped walking. Evie was stood in front of him in the doorway to the kitchen, holding the phone up to them.

(Y/n) bit down on her lip and tilted her head forward, burrowing her face back into the crook of Eddie's neck when she realised Chris had showed her how to switch the call to Facetime. Her dad was on the phone and he could see her clinging to Eddie like a baby monkey.

"Am I unterrupting?" Her dad narrowed his eyes and tilted his head back when Evie turned the phone to face her parents.

She, Chris and the twins had all been showing their grandad the new video game Chris was playing. Which Chris knew Eddie had secretly played at night and unlocked at least seven new levels that Chris was now re-doing.

"Nope, what can we do for you?" Eddie leaned forward and took (Y/n)'s phone from their daughter. "Thank you baby," He whispered and pecked Evie's temple while he juggled to keep (Y/n) on his hips with one arm. He didn't want her to get down, he was perfectly happy carrying her around for a while. Eddie wanted her as close as possible and their families were accustomed to the amount of PDA the couple showed, this was nothing new.

"I just wanted to double check if the kids are staying over this weekend?"

"You can have them at the weekend if you want them." (Y/n) nudged her forehead against Eddie's neck and leaned her cheek against his collar bone so she could look at her dad on the phone. Her eyes drifted back up to look at Eddie though, giving him a warning look when he hitched his hand up from her thigh to hold her bum instead.

Her parents had taken to having all the kids almost every weekend while Eddie was at work. It gave (Y/n) and Eddie some time alone when he was back from work since his weekends off were usually spent down at the beach or the amusements with the kids.

And usually one weekend a month, (Y/n) and Eddie would take the kids down to see Eddie's parents and sisters back in Texas if they could.

"Perfect. Alright, I'll let you all go and see you at the weekend."

(Y/n) tightened her arms around Eddie's neck and held her breath when he flopped down on the armchair and she thudded down onto his lap. She could see Chris trying to show Nate how to play the new video game, but Nate was usually more content to watch rather than play. Finn was already settled and knew what he was doing in the game.

And Evie usually liked to try and play the games, especially when Eddie was playing as she liked to copy him.

"Where'd you think you're going?" Eddie murmured, grazing his teeth along the side of (Y/n)'s neck when her hands moved to his shoulders and she tried to get up.

"I thought you wanted me to find out." She waved her hand towards the kitchen where he'd left the test and a smile graced her lips when he nodded. She could see him fighting off a smile but he couldn't help it.

Eddie let go of her without a fuss and listened to the sound of her walking back into the kitchen. But he tilted his head back, supressing a groan when Evie grabbed his knees and started to clamber up onto his lap too.

She scrambled over his legs, accidentally kicked him and wriggled until she could flop onto the middle of his chest and sprawl out across him. She grinned to herself and draped her arms over Eddie's chest and snuggled into his neck until he shivered.

"Hi baby girl," He murmured softly, tilting his head down to kiss the top of her head while he smoothed his hand up and down her back.

He let his eyes drift over to his boys. Chris and Nate were sat next to each other on the sofa and Finn was on the floor leaning up against Chris's legs as they played their new video game. Eddie liked that game. He was rather good at all the combat missions and he could never help himself when Chris left the games switched on and Eddie couldn't sleep.

"Finn, where are your glasses?" Eddie propped his head up on his left hand while his right hand continued to smooth up and down Evie's back. It was hard to keep his eyes open and focused on his boys when he was slouched down in the chair and this was how he always laid to get Evie to take a nap and go to sleep.

But Eddie managed to keep his gaze focused on Finn, watching the seven year old glance up at him with a sheepish look and tightly pursed lips.

"Bedroom." He whispered back but he began to pout when Eddie clicked his fingers and pointed to the hall.

"Go put them on please."

"But-"

"If you don't wear them, you don't play the game. Go put them on."

Finn passed the control up to Nate who shuffled closer to Chris, he wasn't good at video games and was more content to watch than to play.

At their last eye test, Nate had perfect vision whereas Finn was starting to struggle like Chris, but he didn't like glasses. Something about the feel of them upset him.

(Y/n) had been back to the opticians twice to get new pairs when Finn ripped them off and broke the arm and then he'd tossed them and popped the lens out. They had to keep persevering with him because his eyesight wasn't going to get any better without his glasses. They were trying to get him to wear them when he was concentrating such as playing games or when he was reading.

He didn't have to wear them early in the morning or late into the night or if he was building with his Lego. Eddie hoped they'd get him wearing them all the time soon, and with Chris wearing glasses, it was prompting and showing Finn he needed his too.

"Are you both having a nap?" (Y/n) commented when Eddie propped his feet up on the coffee table and tilted his head back. She watched him smile while he closed his eyes, and Evie already had her eyes closed and her body snuggled under Eddie's arm like it was a blanket.

"We're tired." He didn't bother to open his eyes, but he moved his right arm out instinctively and waited for (Y/n) to sit back down on his lap. She wriggled to get comfy and make sure she wasn't leaning on Evie before she slumped her head into the crook of Eddie's neck and pecked his cheek. "So?"

He cracked one eye open and tilted his head to look down at her, but (Y/n) kept her face buried against Eddie's neck and continued to pepper kisses up and down his skin.

"You can officially dig my maternity clothes out again."

***

"Where's dad?"

(Y/n) turned to the left and looked over at Chris with a smile. She loved the way his eyes danced around the station in wonder. He had been wanting to come down for a while now and see where Eddie worked, but they had never found the right time.

She knew Eddie was trying to make friends here and get along with the team before he introduced them to his family. And the kids were a handful, (Y/n) was always too nervous to bring any of them down here in case they ran round and caused a scene or got in the way.

Eddie's job was demanding and hectic, the last thing they needed was kids running ramped and causing chaos. And (Y/n) would never want to disrupt Eddie at work or get him in trouble for bringing the kids down. She didn't know the rules here, if family were allowed to come by unannounced or not.

"He should be here somewhere. I hope."

When Evie wriggled in her arms, (Y/n) set the toddler down to her feet but kept hold of her hand so she stayed close.

She had Chris next to her on her left, Evie now between her legs and the twins near Chris taking in their new surroundings.

"Hi, can I help you?"

A shiver bolted down (Y/n)'s spine and she tried to smile politely when her eyes landed on an older man. He had a kind smile and his eyes were soft and warm as he looked across the kids before he looked over at (Y/n). He stood in front of them, a smile still gracing his face and both hands on his hips. He had an authoritive aura about him and when (Y/n) saw Nash written on his shirt, she knew he was the captain Eddie was always talking about.

"I was wondering if-" (Y/n) broke off when Evie suddenly let go of her hand and tore off into a sprint.

Her little arms stretched out in front of her and she squealed, kicking up dust behind her from how fast she bolted while (Y/n) was distracted. "It's daddy!"

(Y/n) sucked in a deep breath and bit down on her lip when she looked at who Evie had set her sights on. That wasn't Eddie. The hair was too light and short on top. The shoulders were too square and set high. The circular tattoo on his forearm was on the wrong arm for it to be her husband.

"No Evie that's not- I'm so sorry." She looked back over at the Captain, apologies clear in her eyes and written across her face as she turned to her boys. "Stay there."

She hitched her bag higher up her shoulder and took off in a sprint after her daughter who squealed again and caught the attention of whoever it was she had her sights set on. Her steps faltered and her smile deflated instantly when the man turned around and Evie realised it wasn't Eddie.

"Hey cutie, where'd you come from?" Evan grinned from ear to ear and crouched down in front of the toddler who looked like she wanted to reach out for him but suddenly didn't dare.

"It's not daddy," Evie whispered and looked over her shoulder up at her mum but when she looked back at Evan, she managed a cheeky smile that made his heart jump.

"No, it's not sweetie."

"I'm Buck… does your daddy work here?" When Evie nodded, Evan kindly held his arms out to her. "We've got some brownies upstairs, do you want one?" He looked up at (Y/n) and when she nodded, Evan picked Evie up and sat her down on his hip.

"I'll be one minute, you stay with Buck, okay?" (Y/n) kissed Evie's cheek and let Buck take her upstairs. He was the one Eddie kept talking about, the person he was partnered up with a lot who he really got along with. She knew he would be safe and fine to look after Evie for a little while.

Once he began his ascent up the stairs, (Y/n) turned and headed back near the fire truck to see what the boys were doing.

A fond smile took over her face when she saw Bobby with Chris. He was stood beneath the fire pole, Chris hoisted up in his arms to help him slide down the pole as if he were one of the team.

She got out her phone and took a quick photo before she took another step closer and looked around.

"Where are the twins?" Her question was directed more at Chris than at Bobby and she glanced around, feeling her heart pick up pace when she couldn't see the boys anywhere.

"I believe they wandered upstairs, they wanted to see the pole properly." Bobby set Chris down to his feet and smiled across at (Y/n) as he pointed upwards. He had given the boys the okay to head upstairs and come down the pole from the top as long as they were careful and he said he would wait down here for them. But he figured they got sidetracked as they hadn't come down yet.

"I'm really sorry-"

(Y/n) could feel her panic bubbling up inside of her as she moved her hand from her hip to rub across her forehead. The boys were as good as gold until they were about to make first impressions. Then they would run for their lives and go off wandering even when (Y/n) told them to stay put. But if Bobby had told them it was okay, (Y/n) couldn't really blame them.

"Don't be, families are welcome here, you know. They're fine to wander around and take a look. Who are you here to see, by the way?"

"Dad works here." Chris tilted his head back and grinned up at Bobby before he reached across and took (Y/n)'s hand.

"Oh, who's your dad?"

"Eddie." (Y/n)'s soft voice matched the melting look in her eyes and she couldn't help how she smirked when Bobby rose his brows and let out a quiet 'huh'. Clearly they didn't have Eddie pegged as a family man.

When Bobby uttered a soft "He's upstairs," (Y/n) nodded and let Chris guide her over towards the stairs.

"Oh, you found one too, huh?" Glancing around the kitchen, Hen smiled over at Evan when he climbed up the stairs with a little girl in his arms. She had just found two boys looking at the fire pole. Nobody told them they would be expecting guests today. They weren't told of friends or family coming down, not that it was an issue. But Hen was surprised. That made three kids so far that they had come across like an Easter egg hunt.

A tender smile flooded Evan's face when he saw the two boys who sat down at the table with Hen. Evan nodded proudly and bounced the little girl on his hip, aiming for the fridge until she squealed and stopped him dead in his tracks.

Eddie ducked his head down to miss a low-hanging beam but he hurried past the pool table when he suddenly heard Evie's voice.

What was she doing here?

"Hey boys," When he reached the dining table, Eddie leaned over and ruffled the twins hair and kissed the top of their heads before he headed over to Evan. "Hey baby. I see you found my kids." His grin made his eyes crease and he held his arms out when Evie wriggled against Evan to get over to him.

"Daddy!"

Eddie lifted her up and kissed her cheek before he settled her down on his chest and nuzzled his nose against hers to make her squirm.

"They're your kids?" Hen looked between the boys and the girl in Eddie's arms. He never mentioned having a family. He never even said if he was married or not. All they seemed to wangle out of Eddie was that he clearly went home to someone when he left shift. He was always happy to be here but also eager to leave.

He didn't come out for drinks that often after a shift either and he checked his phone a lot, but then again so did Evan and he didn't have a family waiting at home for him.

"You have three kids, and you never said anything?" Evan reached his hand out and leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing one leg over the other.

Why didn't he tell them? Why wouldn't he say he had kids or bring them down to the station sooner? He had seen Hen bring Denny and Bobby brought May and Harry down all the time. They all brought their kids and partners down to see the team and get to know the station and what they did here.

"Wow, you have three kids?" Ravi wandered over from the sofa where he had been watching tv. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked between the kids as he leaned back against the balcony rail with a smile. But as all eyes looked at Eddie, they watched a dangerous smile overtake his face and he shook his head.

His eyes locked on the stairs and Eddie watched Bobby walk up with the rest of his family and his dangerous smile broadened.

"Try five." Eddie scratched his jaw and pointed across at (Y/n) and Chris before he reached his arm out and let Chris barrel into his side and wrap around him like a vine.

When Chris moved to sit down opposite Hen and the twins, Eddie curled his arm around (Y/n) instead and reeled her into his side while Evie stayed curled up in his other arm. He smoothed his thumb up and down her hip and leaned his forehead against hers as (Y/n) pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"Where's number five?" Evan did a quick sweep around to look for the fifth kid but he couldn't find one. He could see three boys and one cute little girl.

"In production." Eddie leaned back and curved his hand a little tighter around (Y/n)'s waist so his fingers could skim across her bump that Evan clearly failed to notice. They only had four months to go before they could meet baby number five, possibly less than that if their next child decided to come early like Evie had.

"Are you trying to make your own football team with all these kids?" Ravi glanced his eyes around the annex before he pushed off the balcony and moved towards the kitchen. If he was aiming for his own team, Eddie was roughly halfway there. Especially with a handful of boys and only one girl so far.

"Something like that."

Tilting her head to the side, (Y/n) leaned her cheek on Eddie's shoulder and smiled when she felt his lips against the top of her head. Her arms moved to wrap around his chest and when Eddie leaned forward, (Y/n) leaned with him. She watched him ease Evie down into the chair in front of him so she was sat beside Chris.

She began patting her hands against the table like she was drumming out a beat for everyone. When she stretched her hands out for the cup in the middle of the table, Eddie quickly grabbed it first and slid it down the end of the table towards Evan. "You're not having coffee baby, nice try."

Evan grabbed the mug and put it in the sink and found a juice bottle in the fridge which he handed over to the toddler instead.

"Why did you come down today, I thought you were all going out?" Eddie spoke quietly, hovering his lips over the shell of (Y/n)'s ear until she was shivering and squirming against him.

"I need to borrow the jeep."

"What's wrong with the car?"

It was usual for Eddie to take the jeep to work and leave (Y/n) with the car. Eddie was so used to driving bigger cars and the trucks here at the station that going back to a small car always made his driving worse. And (Y/n) felt safer driving something smaller than the jeep Eddie had. She only drove the jeep when she was desperate and had no other choice.

"Mum broke the car-"

"Chris! I didn't break the car." (Y/n) unravelled an arm from around Eddie so she could swat Chris's shoulder playfully. She pressed her lips into a thin line when he tipped his head back into her stomach and started laughing. "The car's got a flat tyre and I can't change it. Can I take the jeep, I'll come back and pick you up later when you finish."

They had been really lucky this afternoon when they went to get in the car that Nate had noticed the back tyre was deflated. (Y/n) checked it over but she couldn't put the spare on, not when she was five months pregnant and she didn't have the energy to be messing around with it.

So they had all taken a walk down to the station in hopes of robbing the jeep for the afternoon. (Y/n) would bring the kids back out later and pick Eddie up from shift so he didn't have to walk home after an eighteen hour shift.

"I'll give you a ride home. Save bringing your troop back out later to get you." A grin spread across Evan's face as he took a seat at the end of the table. He didn't mind dropping Eddie off, they finished at the same time today anyway. And it saved (Y/n) having to drag all the kids back out this way to go back home again.

"Thanks. I'll get you the keys in a minute."

"Do you boys wanna look round the fire truck before you go?"

Three pairs of eyes suddenly set on Eddie, staring up at him with pleading looks waiting for permission to go and look. The moment Eddie nodded, the twins were up and at the stairs and Chris followed behind, kissing (Y/n)'s arm as he passed.

"Do you want to go too?" Evie tilted her head back to look at Eddie and she shook her head. She didn't want to go anywhere, she was fine at the table.

She pushed her empty juice bottle away and scrambled up onto the table so she could crawl across to Hen who happily picked her up and gave her some attention.

(Y/n) perched her chin on Eddie's shoulder and smiled sweetly up at him as she moved her arms from his chest to wrap around his neck instead. Her smile broadened when Eddie turned so his chest was merged with hers and he looped both arms around her waist, rubbing his hands up and down her hips. Although they kept moving dangerously south.

"I'll go grab the keys… will you need a leg up to get in the jeep?" His teeth punctured down into his lower lip when (Y/n)'s arms tightened around his neck. He watched the way she pursed her lips and leaned her head to the side with one brow arched.

"What do you mean by that, Eddie?" If he was going to start teasing her, she was going to start using his name. He was used to petnames rolling off her lips, hearing his name meant he was either in trouble or in for a good night.

"Be careful what you say next." Bobby muttered and patted Eddie's shoulder as he walked past him to get into the kitchen.

"You think you can get up that high?" He taunted while his eyes did another sweep up and down her frame and lingered on her stomach for a few extra seconds. Eddie loved winding her up. It was always easy to get (Y/n) riled up and it didn't matter if she knew he was joking, she always went along with it and teased him in return.

"Hm, maybe not." Pushing up on her tiptoes, (Y/n) pecked his lips before she wriggled out of his arms and took a look around. "Maybe I should find a fireman strong enough to help me. Any suggestions?" Her eyes darted over his arms, squinting as if she were scrutinising him and she patted his shoulder as she walked past him like she was dismissing him out of that category.

"I think that's a challenge I can win."

(Y/n) bit down on her lower lip, trying to distort her smile as she looked across at Evan when he got up from the table. It was clear in his eyes that he was trying to wind Eddie up and taking a few steps closer to (Y/n) as if he was about to do something clearly sparked the competitive, teasing side in Eddie.

She looked across at Evie who was giggling on Hen's lap even though she didn't really understand the conversation or what they were talking about.

She felt a familiar set of hands on her arms and her breath caught in her lungs when Eddie spun her around so she was facing him.

Her arms moved and she was about to fold them over her chest but she reached out quickly when Eddie bent down. (Y/n) had no idea what he was doing. A gasp tumbled past her lips and she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself when he held her thighs and lifted her up. He lifted her high enough that she had to loop her legs around his hips when she realised he wasn't about to put her down anytime soon.

His hands stayed curled tight around the back of her thighs and he grinned when she leaned forward, pressing her chest into his and hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

"If you drop me-"

"What, like this?" Eddie bent his knees and loosened his hands on her thighs until (Y/n) slid down his torso just a little.

"Eddie!" (Y/n) snapped her eyes closed and kept her face smothered in his neck so she didn't have to look around at the team who were laughing while Evie cheered. Her arms deadlocked around Eddie's neck and she pushed forward until he dug his fingertips into her soft thighs to reassure her he had a good grip. He wouldn't purposely drop her. He would never.

"Am I strong enough for you now?"

***

(Y/n) took a step back into Eddie, hovering over the threshold when she opened the front door only to be faced with Chris. He had either been about to open the door for them or he had been waiting near the door for them to come home.

A grin spread across her features and she reached out to wrap her arms around him when he pushed forward and curled around her.

"Were you waiting for us?" She mumbled softly into his hair as she kissed his temple. She felt Eddie's hands on her hips and he slowly walked the three of them forwards so they could get inside and shut the door.

They both looked up when Carla walked out of the kitchen, the twins following at her side. "He's been waiting anxiously for you to come home." She spoke with a soft smile which made Chris lean forward and press his face into (Y/n)'s stomach.

He giggled into her shirt which made her shiver and when (Y/n) started to rake her hands through his curls, he tilted his head back and rested his chin on her stomach instead so he was looking up at her.

"You said you'd find out today. What is it?"

"It's… a baby."

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder with an unamused expression at her husband. She watched Eddie grin and ruffle Chris's hair when Chris groaned and nudged him. All the kids knew they were going to find out if the new baby was a boy or a girl and they all wanted to know. Especially Chris. He was excited to tell his friends and his teachers at school.

Chris stayed tucked under (Y/n)'s arm as they followed Eddie into the living room where Carla and the twins were setting up a movie to watch.

A grin broke out on Eddie's face and made his heart jump in his chest when he looked over at the sofa. Evie was having a power nap. The three year old was laid on her side, curled up on the cushion with her blanket tightly bound in her arms against her chest.

Moving across to the sofa, Eddie crouched down and tenderly reached out to brush his thumb across Evie's cheek. He didn't really want to wake her up from her nap, but they were home now and she needed to wake up to hear the good news.

"Hi baby," He spoke softly and quietly when Evie's eyes fluttered open and a tired smile pulled at her lips when she realised who was talking to her.

She didn't have to speak. She shuffled across until Eddie took the hint and reached out for her. He lifted her up and switched places so he was sat in her seat and she was laid on his chest instead. Her head tucked beneath his chin and her arms bound around his chest as she wriggled to get comfy against him.

Chris slumped down on the sofa next to Eddie while Finn sat next to him and Carla stood near the end of the sofa. She was eager to find out what the new baby would be, if there would be another little girl around to spoil or an army of boys to outnumber them.

And Nate shuffled across to sit between (Y/n)'s legs instead with his arms folded over her lap and his eyes concentrated on her stomach.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, baby?" Eddie tilted his chin down so he could look at Evie. She could barely keep her eyes open and he knew in a few minutes she would be back to sleep if she didn't get overexcited about the new baby.

He took to gliding his hand up and down her back while Chris leaned his head on his shoulder.

"If it's a sister… will I still be your baby girl?" She snuggled deeper into Eddie's chest while he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

His eyes drifted over to look at (Y/n) and he could see her biting back a soft smile. Evie was so used to Eddie saying she was his little girl, his only girl apart from (Y/n). If they had another girl, she wondered if that nickname would disappear and if Eddie would have to start calling her something else.

Eddie had been in two minds about it. Up to now he had been content to say that he had one little girl and three amazing boys. He would love another girl. He loved all the kids equally, but Evie seemed the most like him, his little shadow, whereas Chris was most like (Y/n), and the twins would always switch between them. But Eddie also wanted Evie to stay his only girl.

"You don't have to worry about that, baby. You're gonna have a little brother."

"It's a boy?" Nate pushed up on his knees and pressed his lips and nose against (Y/n)'s stomach as if he was trying to see through her stomach to see the baby.

"Yep. I'm well and truly outnumbered by my boys." Leaning over, (Y/n) pressed a kiss to the top of Nate's head and began rubbing her hand up and down his back as he clung to her front.

There would be five boys in the house and only two girls.

"Another boy." Chris grinned and leaned his head on Eddie's shoulder, wrapping his arms around him to snuggle into his side. While Finn nudged his glasses higher up his nose and grinned up at Carla who was clapping happily.

"I'm daddy's only girl." Evie mumbled happily as she moved her arms higher to lock them around Eddie's neck. She shuffled up a little higher so she could tiredly look up at him with a grin and she nudged her nose against his, prompting him to give her a kiss.

"No, I've got two girls. You're my baby girl, and mummy's my best girl."

Evie nodded and began to giggle when Eddie peppered kisses all across her cheeks. She could live with that. She could very happily be his only little girl and share the title of Eddie's only girl with her mum. She slumped back down onto his chest, giggling and squirming when Eddie bound his arms around her in a bear hug and Chris leaned over to hug her too.

Soon they would have four boys and only one girl. For now.

[ikkosu]

Earthspark bumblebee is currently rotting my brain from the inside out so could I ask for so fluffy fem shyer human and bumblebee who are crushing hard for each other but keep both of them keep prolonging confessing to the other the terrans realize what's going on and take it upon themselves try to get them to confess their feelings to each other

SUNSHINE

bumblebee x shy!fem!reader

a/n: tfe bee is so big brother energy 😭 he reminds a lot of what rid bee could be. I had a lot of fun writing this ! totally didn't rewatch all the bee scenes to get his character right,,,,,totally didn't. (I don’t write fluff often so i treid my best I swear)

[i]

"When are you gonna suck it up like a man and confess?"

Twitch startled you from above as the whirs of her fan hummed gently, hovering around you in her alt-mode.

"C'mon! What're you gonna say, huh? Turn away from the problem like you always do?"

Gloved hands, scathed with dirt, halted in the midst of pulling out a persistent weed. You feel your temple burn, a nervous laugh bubbled from your throat as your fingers plunged into the soil once more, pawing around to find the root of the problem.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!".

"I don't know what you mean."

When you did find the source, delicately you curled your fingers into the crevices, balling the soil then, with a huff, yanked the roots out. You're careful not to damage the nearby flowers.

When confronted at the baselines of your problems, you often churn into a sputtering mess. Sometimes, you have to clarify that no, you’re not angry, or no you’re not daunting — that’s your facial expressions constricting. Because if you don't. You're going to cry. And you're going to cry lots over matters daintier than an atom.

"Wuss."

"Twitch. Really you are trying." You sigh when the drone nudged your back.

A quick zip-zap of metallic whirs and she’s in her usual form, yellow eyes ablaze, arms crossed, leaning over with a scowl. Her hips jutted out, sassed-esque — a pose Dorothy used often when she's mad.

"I appreciate your concern but—"

“Dont even try to push it away. I'm not stupid." She prods, getting up to your face. Really, this adorable thing is half a step away from making you ostrich-dunk your head into the soil. "Oh, let me guess : tongue, tied? Busy thinking about a certain someone? Someone, or a bot so yellow like the sun, it’s blinding your eyes?”

You don’t even know where to begin. So, you look into the soil really hard, like you’re trying to find something worth focusing on. Oh, look. A worm. Bingo.

"I'm going to eat that worm if you're not going to look at me."

"Twitch—" You began.

Then, she’s shoved away.

"Sorry, you see. Wh-what she's saying is that, well, you know—" Thrash nudged his head into view, twiddling his thumbs as a demure, placating smile eased on his soft face. "...it's high time you...tell 'im how you feel?"

This time you want to plunge your head into the soil. It’s not a want, it’s a need. The scent of earth was purging strong, beckoning you with it's heed, as you, yet again, choke back another sound. You laugh, nervous. God, this earthworm! So, interesting. Haha. So...so...er. Hm.

"Pshh. How I feel? I feel fine."

"I mean...about your, uh, crush on bee."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Twitched groaned, rolling around the grass all the way from the stack of hays to the tip of your boots. Then, she repeated the motion, each rant about your supposed love life —also, none-existent, if you will— becoming more fervent. That is, until Thrash had plucked her up by the arm pits and she fell limp like a doll in his hold.

" You said you’d be nice about it."

"What’s there to be nice about?! They’re being so smushy mushy , oh darling so lovely, it's giving me the critters!” She growled, clawing the air

You stood up with an uncertain hunch in your shoulder. You’re still holding the clump of soil in your rubber gloves, back taut and jaws slacked. The earthworm was gone, buried in the soil somewhere. You hoped it had a a nice stay unsurfaced for once — and you really should keep twitch away from Wheeljack. She's even swearing, now. She swears!

“Come on, now Twitch. It isn’t so bad.” You say quietly, not trusting yourself to yell at the skies in full volume. Really, you’ll disentigrate.

“You don’t get to talk, wuss.”

“Twitch!’’

“What?”

“Mom said be nice. A person’s word is like a kni—“

"Yeah, well she's a liar!" You shrunk asher digit juts your way. "That's gotta breach the fifteenth rule, right? A whole machete stab?"

Thrash seemed surpise. "You actually remember the rules."

You're exasperated. "What rules? And, what on earth are you both talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me!"

"Really, I'm not." Oh my god, are you really having a verbal spar with a — with a child of all bots that's half your size?!

"Oh, yeah? Then why you're nervous, huh? If you're not nervous then you've got nothing to hide."

"I'm not nervous." You said, blinking profusely.

Twitch made a face. "You're gardening."

"The grass looked bad."

"You garden when you're nervous."

You feel your lungs gave out. Your inner you's are bouncing around in your skull, panicking and screaming in disbelief. Alarm signals, blaring inside. How did she know?!

"N..no? I garden when I'm....happy." You kick the ground sheepishly. Bad call. The soil tipped over a your hold, little dots of brown mingled with the grass. Oh, dear.

"Happy? Please. You're nervous because big 'ol bee didn't have the spark to confess to missy sweet spark with barely any roots to hold herself." Twitch huffs. She's getting to sassy for her own good — "And so are you, wuss."

"We're friends!" You said, though the term was lacking. "Normal friends. Buddy, even. Buddy friends...haha...."

Thrash stiffens.

Twitch deadpans.

Both at the same time uttered : "Really?"

[ii]

They're hiding in a bush. A bush of all places. No, not the tree, obscured by the leaves and a leverage with the branches. Or, whatever hiding place is deemed suitable for this operation. A bush. Can you believe that?

Fluffy Ears nestled herself on the grass, curious eyes skimming over the several Terrans peeking over the bush. Thrash brought it upon himself to hide in the barn because, as per his words, a good spy needs a good hiding place.

The only good thing about his 'prowling' tendencies is the fact he falls asleep during these so-called covert operations. Which is why he gets most of the ranks during training. What a scammer.

Jawbreaker was too large to hide behind a,ugh, bush so he was demoted to simply standing a few meters back, loitering by the fence.

Twitch feels something poking her rib plate. Can't the spot get any more cramped? "Nightshade, I swear to Primus—"

"Hush! There he is! The first move. Hashtag, commence operation : video!"

"That's not even—"

"On it!" Hashtag wrangled out the most, honest to Unicron, humongous camera in existence.

Silence veiled the three Terrans as they spot the yellow black approaching their resident gardener-who-normally-comes-at-the-weekends-and-bee-is-distraught-over-that-fact, tending the newly planted flowers by the hedge.

"So, I was wondering..." He's stretching on his toes, not exactly looking at you.

How could he? Everytime he so much as to catch a glimpse of your face, he feels like tripping over his own pedes and burrowing himself into the ground until comets rain, the world in flames — and god knows when would Primus let him out again.

"You need something, bee?" You swivel up, pawing your apron to get off the dirt from your gloves.

But he looks confused, optics lowered downwards, brows furrowed. You look as well, then up.

"Yellow, huh." He looks away, pointing to your torso.

You look down again then realized what he meant. Your face burns with a vengeance.

"My other apron broke." You try not to stammer but it's proven futile as an amused smile eased over his face. "A-alex decided to give me his, well, you know one of his precious merch which...is typically your...um face on it. If it makes you uncomfortable—"

"No! Gosh, no. You can wear it all you want. I'm just surprised, that's all. You never really... Besides, it's nice...." He looks down and kicks the grass a little, servos behind his back. "It...suits you well."

At the compliment you look up, hoping not to make eye contact, but he does as well and you're both held at a stalemate. His round almond optics droop. For a moment, his lips part, then it shuts. He looks down, avoiding your gaze.

Is he... flustered? At that thought, you fisted the apron, bunching it a little. You look away, hiding the way you smiled a little. " ...It's a pretty color. Yellow, I mean. Honeybee. I love bees."

He looks back up, blue optics flared, and into your eyes. His chassis did those little backward flips and, he swears to Primus, he'll simply disintegrate. You're a lovely color too.

Bee flinched the moment you turn to him at break neck speed, sputtering, eyes wide and face, all the more flustered.

"What?"

"What?" He said that out loud. He said it. Out. Loud. He held up his servos. "I-i meant it's a lovely color. As in, you know, you're a lovely color so like when you said yellow was a lovely color. I thought— What I mean by that is— Oh, forget it." He lets out a deep vent. "It's been a long day. Sorry."

"You're fine. It's fine, I mean." You said. When silence veils over you both (Twitch really wants to strangle you, right now) you speak up again, quietly. "You were going to ask something...?"

His door wings pike up in surprise, much to his chagrin.

"Oh, right. Forgot about that." He coughed and cleared his throat. " I was wondering If you were...you know..." Gosh, what's that word. "Freethisweekend?"

It was so quick and quiet, you didn't really grasp much of what he uttered. “I got free— what's the next—"

"This weekend." He said, then trailed off. "Free... this weekend."

"Oh..." You look to the ground, hands primly folded behind your back.

"To... ah,” Just ask her out. Just ask her out. Worse she can say is no and no. No is fine! If you don't ask, you'll never know. That's what Elita said, right? Right? He sags. She said a lot of things.

He decides to go in for the kill but the moment he met your eyes, your pretty eyes, your temple grew warm, like really warm. He feels his own face burning and he starts stumbling over his words. “Free to. To go. To, um, a, well, a...d—dah, dah, duh, die, no! A, ah, diversion! Yes! Right. Diversion."

A domino effect of forehead slapping commenced. Bee, you fool! Twitch was wrangled back by Hashtag from leaping over the bush.

"Diversion?" Your face furrowed.

"With the....Terrans!" He snapped his servos. " Right, the Terrans. You know, a new lesson I made. Figured you'd be there for support. It's all about the essence of....diversion."

You stand there, mouth opening then closing. "...Sure, I guess. What time?"

"Anytime you're free." He says it, almost breathlessly.

You blink. "I thought it was a scheduled lesson."

His door wings pike up again. He groaned internally. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, uh. Yeah. Right. Schedule….schedule…So, how's ten tommorow? I'll round up the kids by then."

"Sounds good."

"Good. Good. See you....later."

You wave, then turned around, rounding the corner of the house. The moment you did, your face crumbled and you hid your face into your palms, a whine seethed inside your throat. Bee, however, pressed his helm against his servo, sighing.

How did I messed that up so badly?

Meanwhile, in the bush.

"Cut the film, Hash." Twitch resigned.

"But he could push on!"

"I highly doubt that." Nightshade was already crawling away.

Jawbreaker clicked thought the comms. "I saw yellow leaving. Is everything alright?"

"Nothing. Is Thrash dead? Thought so. Saw his head peeking out from the barn. Someone get him, please."

And, while they're all about to regroup. Twitch just had the perfect idea. It's about time she takes matters into her own hands.

[v]

Night plunged the skies, freckled with stars reflecting off his windshield as he rolled underneath the veil of darkness.

"Bee quick! Come to the barn! A problem just came up!"

"Twitch?" He was about to scale another ramp when he halted midway, changing course immediately. "C'mon talk to me. What's the problem?"

"Just come! It's urgent!"

Seeds of inky doubts blotched into his mind. The little runt had a lot of tricks up her sleeves. Sure, she's a heavy hitter but also a decent liar. Last time she pulled off the same shtick he was pushed into a hole....filled to the brim with mud. He walked around the vicinity and stank like cow feces for days.

He really should stop letting twitch mingle with Wheeljack.

His wheels rolled up to a stop in front of the barn. The trees, inky black, loomed around the farm, towering above him. He felt a shudder up his spine. Leaves rustled. Crickets chirp. All was quiet. Too quiet.

"Twitch? Kids?" He slid the barn door aside, joints whirring with every step. Hay crunched under his pedes. " Ugh, not this again. Guys, seriously. If, if this, Primus who littered this place? If this is one of your jokes I swear to— huh?"

The basement door was open. A gaping hole, black and swarthy greeted his eyes. Who left that open? He took a step closer. "Guys? Are you in there? What's going on?"

Another step. Then another.

"Look, you can come out now. This isn't funny."

The hole grew bigger, bigger and— Footsteps pattered behind him. It was gentle but it drew alarm as Bumblebee whirled around. And, there she was. Twitch stood before him, a wide, chesire grin on her face. The moonlight illuminated her from behind, casting an ominous shadow that loomed In front of her figure.

"Adios!"

He sputtered in confusion and felt two pedes connecting with his chest and he's sent stumbling back down the steps of Nightshade's underground lab. His shout of surprise was quickly drowned out when Twitch pulled the door shut.

"There! That'll do it." She grinned, fists on her hips. “You got that hash?”

“All on tape. Even his face too! Did you see how he looked like?” Hash stepped out of her hiding place, literally behind the hay. The original culprit of hay litter-er. "They're gonna be there for hours! Trapped in each other's embrace! Oohhhh this is so rad. You've seen those rom-coms, right? It's going be so funny when they come back out.”

"With result." Nightshade chirped, coming up beside them. "It's been awhile something has transpired. A change of the usual routine. Oh, the bore of waiting so long. As a scientist myself. I admit — it can get a little bothersome. Let's only hope the heat from the generator can keep them warm."

Silence. Hashtag feels two optics on her.

"Generator, what generator?"

"....Hashtag." They begin slowly. Twitch looks mortified.. "....Please tell me you didn't cut off the generator when I said only to cut off the vault."

Confusion furrowed her brows. "How else would the door be locked if I didn't?"

Twitch groaned, head into her palms.

Nightshade stares at the closed vault. "....Oh, dear."

[vi]

"Unnfh!" His helm collided against the floor. Great. That’s just great. Mentor student. Mentor student! You don’t do this to your mentors! Annoyance bubbled inside his chassis and he grits his teeth. That is it. That is it. He’s had enough of her tomfoolery, her jokes, her tricks! Tommorow, he’s going to put her through hell and back—

“Bee?” He feels something warm touching his shoulder.

His helm swivels up, then his optics widens in surpise when your nose is inches away from his own. You make a flustered sound, suddenly falling back on your ass to put space between you both, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d uh be that close.” Was a soft mumble. “The fall looked like it hurt. You okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine.” He breaths out, scrambling up to sit properly. He’s not sure what position, so he curled up his knee plates to his chassis. Your eyes are too…impossible to look at. “Think I broke a joint there.”

“You break joints too?”

He huffs a laugh, “You don’t think we do?” “I mean as in,” You gesture to his body, “ You know, cracking joints. Is it equivalent to me popping my knuckles? I saw you did it this morning when you stretch.” You trailed off, then shake your head. “Sorry, it’s a stupid question.”

“It’s fine. It’s not stupid. You’re not….stupid.” He clears his throat, “We also experience cramps. Tension in the joints when, well, like how a rusty hinged door won’t open up all the way.”

“Oh, that’s one way to put it.” You scoot a bit closer, pressing up against his leg. Bumblebee stiffens, servos moving over to stiffly cup your back to keep on you warm. The air was unusually chilly today. His quick scans showed the generator wasn’t working. Did the lights went out? His servos graze over your shoulders, massaging it a little, then behind your neck.

“And, and that one time. I don’t think you know him yet, he’s an old friend back during the war," He starts rambling for something to say anything to keep the conversation going, “His name’s Ratchet. Old bot forgot to oil up his pistons and couldn’t move for an entire day! Can you believe that? We had to carry him everywhere we went. Once, I was caught in the crossfire. Bullets were raining. Full on barrage. Nonstop. And he’s just like that, a plank of wood in my arms as I ran. You should’ve seen the look in his face!

“I can imagine he’s not happy,” A giggle bubbled in your throat. His audials perk up. “Yeah, I can tell. He’s a lot less crass in his manners when he dealt with me,” Bee leans a bit close, the servo skims down to your torso. “After all the bedgruding looks I’ve gotten from him — he’s got no choice but to give me special treatment of letting me off a few scolding.” “Oh? Why’s that,”

“I’m not exactly the prim and proper type.”

“My, my is bee the rebellious type?”

He lowers his voice into a playful whisper. “I had a phase, okay? Everyone does. Mine, though, it’s just worse than Arcee’s. She’s unhinged too but waaaay less moody. But don’t tell the kids that. I’m not going to have my name sullied, you hear?”

“Noted, officer. But I really can’t promised I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

He groans then a digit nudges your ribs. “No, really I’m serious. They’re going to kill me with that. I don’t want another incident to tarnish my reputation. Ive got Jawbreaker pestering me about how I made a mistake choosing my first alt-mode, I don’t need another slander. My feelings,” he says with a servo over his chassis, “they’re fragile.”

“Come on,” you leaned forward, cheek against his leg plate. Bee looks away, holding himself back from, well, squishing that…squishy part of your face. “It’s not so bad. The beetle looked adorable.”

“Beetle. Really? Beetle?” He looked almost offended you termed it that way.

“Isn’t that what it’s called?” He leans over and flicks your head. “I’d prefer it if you called it something else.”

You laugh. “I’ll bite, then. The Beatles?”

“No,” He said the words too fast, “Honey.”

You freeze. He freezes.

He did not just say that. Oh, no. He did not. He did not. When you look away that’s when he panicked. No! He’s not going to let the past few minutes go to waste! “As in yellow! Honey as in yellow!” He backpedaled, raising up his servos. “You know when I— when you said that, I was—" What’s up with him today? Then, he sags, muttering defeatedly. “It’s not what you think I meant to say.”

He’s blown it. Thrown it all down the drain. All his hard work now crumbled at the mere touch of his fingertips. You speak up after a moment, “What if…I wanted it to be what I think you meant?”

He looks at you again, surprise. He felt his spark clenching. This time you held firm eye contact despite your hands that were shaking. Think about gardening. Think about gardening. This is like that! Like he’s a flower. Gentle to hold. You steeled yourself and stood up on your toes, palms on his knee plates as you leaned in close.

“What did you meant?” You said softly.

His servos reached out to cup your cheek, curling his digits around the back of your hair. You leaned against his touch, closing your eyes. It was warm. His touch was warm. Pulsing and thrumming against your face.

“What I meant is that you’re someone important to me.” Then, he pulls you close, his optics flickering back and forth nervously. “So important I….think about you a lot. Like, a lot. I can’t….really stop. Even when I want to….its hard.”

Your face burns but you’re not letting that deter you. If god decided to kill you today, you’d steel on, wading through his comets. Think about the garden! You close the distance and your lips find the crook of his nose, pressing a gentle kiss to it, then his cheek. Your palms rested on his shoulder. Bee blinks, choking back a surpised sound at the touch but his servos manage to find your waist, curling his digits around the fabric of your shirt and pulls you close. He tilts his head so his lips would find yours.

“I think about you too.” You mumble against his lips.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: pony club (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, angst no comfort, previous abuse, domestic violence, curses and hexes, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, possession, mediums, ghosts, hauntings, horror, smoking, brothels, pubs, gambling, alcohol, cults, death/violence/torture, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, police brutality, vaguely british setting??, sexism, classism, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 10.1k!!! oh my god someone help

A/N: god this has been on the go for awhile. it got so long but i have a worm in my brain that told me this had to happen before i can get onto the juicy stuff. next part will be a lot more bucky heavy im so sorry this didn't have much of him, needed to build up that loreeee. anyway i actually hate my writing in this, if i have to reread this one more time im gonna go crazy so i'm just gonna post it and go to bed lol!! sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara

main masterlist | series masterlist

To be lulled into the false security that you would never see Bucky Barnes again was a foolish thought. 

Two months passed rather uneventfully. The handsome payment Bucky left you after your favour to him was far beyond your normal rates. A mixture of the gangster having deep pockets and, you suspected, an indication that all that had unfolded was to be kept quiet. 

So you had done just that. Your mouth had been sown shut, an invisible thread keeping your lips bound. There were so few people left in your life anyway that you didn’t feel like spilling details of a sex-based ritual with the limited relatives you had left. You weren’t particularly fond of them regardless; most you had not seen in years. 

You embraced the winter months as they settled across the city of Blackstone. The fog would roll in thick and dense, the clouds lingering over the port as Sootstone was cast into days of hoarfrosts. Icicles as long as your forearm hung from buildings and lamp-posts and was salt scattered across the wooden docks, where slippage was the worst. The homeless gathered in crowds around the Smokestack district, leeching off the warmth the factories produced. The ice and frosts were never white, unlike the country estates or wealthy garden districts. Smoke and ash continued to pour into the skies, tainting everything with a layer of black grit. 

You would see the Smog Boys in the streets often. Teams of the lower-ranking, younger lads would roam in packs, dipping in and out of the alleys. Even dressed in black, you could not make them out through the fog when they intended to disappear. Maybe it had been your brush with Bucky, but you began to notice them everywhere. Lurking in the markets, smoking by the docks, or sauntering by the smokestack factories. A small, stiff, knowing nod would be bestowed upon you if your gaze locked with theirs or if you lingered too long. As if they knew who you were. As if they had been instructed to keep an eye out for you. 

You could never leave the Smog Boys once you were inside. Whether you liked it or not, your fates were inextricably linked. You never knew when you might be needed. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to find one in your home. It is what you ought to have expected by now. It was only a matter of time before they came calling. 

You could only find one word to describe the woman in your kitchen. Beautiful. Beautiful in a hauntingly, terrifying way. She was stylish, with a blouse tucked into tailored, high-waisted suit pants. A lavish fur coat was draped over her shoulders, and her red hair was in a fashionable, blunt bob. Her lips, painted a deep red, were curved into a disgusted sneer as she assessed your residence. 

She had to be with Bucky because only a Smog Boy could illicit such an aura. 

“You should invest in better locks.” The redhead comments with a sniff. You haven’t even had a chance to process her presence; instead, you are standing with your lips parted in shock. “It wouldn’t be hard to rob you… or worse.”

You’re unsure if that was a thinly veiled threat or genuine advice. 

“Most don’t make habit of breakin’ into witches' homes.” You mutter, regaining your composure. You whip your headscarf off, abandoning it on your dining table. “They’re scared of being cursed.”

Your fingers unknot the woollen scarf around your neck now, tugging it free with a flutter of ash. The woman arches a well-manicured brow at you, looking you up and down. She doesn’t try to hide her judgement. She didn’t seem the type of woman to shy away from stating her opinion. Your clothing was noticeably different from hers, which was made of luxurious fabrics. The Smog Boys were well known for their finer suits—just because they lived and worked in the slums didn’t mean they dressed for it. Bucky seemed to like to keep certain appearances and had the funds to do so. You, however, were dressed for practicality. Heavy, cheap textiles that kept in the warmth. 

“Cursed.” The woman states, tone sharp. “You don’t seem the type to throw curses. You’re too… sweet.”

You don’t miss the condescending nature of how her sharp lips curve into a smile. You shoulder the insult. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Natasha. Romanoff.” The name was vaguely familiar to you. She was definitely one of Bucky’s inner circle. Possibly she worked closer to the shadows—a brain rather than brawn like Steve and Sam. “Barne is in need of your particular set of skills again.”

You pause, your fingers frozen over the pin in your mantle. Again? You knew to expect this, but still, you felt your heart uptick a beat. So soon? The question of which skills hung heavy in the air. Your abnormal skill to summon and banish spirits? To break curses and sense the otherworldly? Or to get your brains fucked out by Sootstone’s most notorious gangster? 

From the way Natasha was eyeing you, it seemed she knew all about your little sex ritual. 

“What if I’m unavailable?” You test hesitantly. 

The redhead isn’t amused. “It wasn’t a request.”

You nod slowly, hands falling to your sides. One should know when not to test Bucky Barnes or his men; it always ended rather unfavourably. Plus, you didn’t want to wake up tomorrow to find your kitchen filled with any more gangsters. 

Maybe Natasha was right about the locks.

—

Bucky and a pack of his dogs congregated in the streets outside the pub known as The Anchor. The establishment sat across from the docks, with tinted, lattice windows facing the port. On a clear day, one who sat in the window booths might be able to see the ocean. Though, throughout your life, you could recall about as many clear days as the fingers on your right hand. The Anchor had been in the Barnes family for years, originally bought by Bucky’s father when the Smog Boys first rose to infamy. 

The building was well cared for, a luxury not many of the surrounding establishments were familiar with. The building was decorated in a nautical style, with netting and flags adorning the walls and rafters. Fish and ships were painted onto the siding, with gold and blue accenting the furniture inside. Even the sign out front was a small, steel anchor engraved with the pub's name. 

The Anchor was mainly stocked with whiskey, which the Smog Boys ran an underground distillery for. They offered other spirits, wines, and ales, but the main vice of The Warrens was whiskey. Bucky had several underground or even legal businesses dotted throughout Sootstone, including gambling dens and brothels. You knew he made his office in a gambling den not too far from The Anchor—the dock-side streets were prime spots for high traffic from the sailors and dockworkers coming and going like the tide. 

As you and Natasha approached, the pack of adolescent gangsters surrounding Bucky scattered, disappearing into the thick fog and alleyways like wraiths. 

“Your witch, as requested,” Natasha announces with a sigh, her brows arched. Bucky glances at you, acknowledging you with little more than a grunt. He takes the last drag from his cigarette before crunching it beneath his shoe. 

“Thank you, Nat.” Bucky replies, smoke escaping his lips as he speaks. “Sam’s lookin’ for you inside.” 

Natasha doesn’t offer you a farewell as she pulls her coat tighter around her lean body and ducks inside the pub with a tsk. You and Bucky are left in an odd silence, with only the faint call of seagulls and the lapping of waves joining you. You had never seen the dockside street so quiet, but you could confidently assume his presence was responsible. 

“I trust Nat didn’t scare you too bad.” The gangster breaks the silence. His dark eyes wander across your frame, seemingly disappointed that you were thoroughly covered to prevent the cold from seeping in. “Would’ve come to get you myself, but I had some business to attend to.”

In retrospect, the thought of encountering Natasha in your kitchen again seemed more daunting than Bucky. You weren’t too sure how to interpret her malice and cool charm. She did give off the impression that she would kill you if you even breathed in her direction. As for Bucky, maybe he would kill you, but given his reputation, he was far more likely to fuck you up against the nearest available surface. 

“She said you've a job for me?” You ask, watching as the gangster tucks his large, bruised hands into his pockets. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Walk with me.”

You obey wordlessly.

Bucky navigates the streets with ease, ducking through alleys and blindly striding into the fog with unquestionable confidence. The few people you encounter in the winding streets dart out of the way, mumbling apologies and casting their gazes down as they stumble over their own feet. Your breath comes in clouds as you exhale, salt and ice crunching beneath your feet as you keep pace with him. 

“There’s an establishment I own, it’s been losin’ business these past months. The girls reckon it’s cursed. Or haunted.” He elaborates, and you frown. 

“You think a spirit’s attached?” You ask, and the gangster huffs out a short, bitter laugh. 

“I don’t fuckin’ know. I don’t have a sense for that stuff.” His lips are set in a line as he casts his sight down at you. “That’s your job, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t help but gulp and hope that his issue was indeed a spirit. One did not want to disappoint the gangster out of fear of the consequences. Your mind drifted back to months ago, to when he sat in your kitchen with that cursed necklace. He hadn’t noticed that curse—not until his sister apparently spelt it out for him. You couldn’t imagine carrying that thing around when it had reeked so badly that you tasted rot. 

“What about your sister?” You suddenly interrupt.

Bucky gives you an incredulous look. “Becca? What about her?” 

“You said she has a sense—”

“You think I’m lettin’ my sister near a brothel?” He snaps over you. His body turns to face you as you are both left motionless in the empty, ashy street. 

“Oh— I didn’t realise it was… You just said— I just assumed—” Your cheeks grow pink—this time not from the cold—as you stumble over your words. Flakes of ash slowly amble down from the sky, twirling in your mingled breath as the gangster looms over you. Several emotions flicker over his face—insult, disbelief—before finally settling on an eerie amusement. 

“Shy ‘bout a brothel? You’re not far off bein’ a whore yourself, doll. You certainly let me fuck you like one.” He leans closer to you, the scent of tobacco fanning across your skin. You clamp your jaw shut, your cheeks growing hotter by the second. The gangster smirks at you with a wickedness that rivals the devil. 

—

The Pony Club was not creatively named, like most things in Sootstone. You were sure there was an innuendo about riding or mounting buried in its origin. The brothel was buried deep in the busy streets of the Smokestack District. The crowd of workers parted with hushed whispers as you, Bucky, and Steve approached the establishment. You had bumped into the other gangster during your walk, and he had thankfully filled the tense silence hanging between you and Bucky. 

The Pony Club was neatly tucked between two stores. Ice covered the tiled roof, and grey-stained icicles dripped melted water from the front balcony. The ash falling from the sky was thick in these parts. Street sweepers patrolled the roads like small armies, brooms in tow, ensuring the roads were clear for carriages, waggons, and those on foot. 

The three of you paused before the building. Your eyes swept over the painted sign, an illustration of a pony alongside the cursive lettering. The building looks well up-kept like many of the Smog Boy establishments; it put its neighbours to shame. You couldn’t help but notice how, despite its busy location, the building was eerily empty. It was as if its walls stood outside of time, cursed to live an existence outside of perceivable reality. 

There was a twinge in your gut, a knowing. 

Steve grimaces beside you, the gangster scowling as he tucks his hands deep into his pockets. At first, you think he is simply cold from the frigid fog sitting over the city, but only as he speaks do you realise he senses something more. “I hate this place.” He utters.

Bucky hasn’t reacted. He truly didn’t seem to have a sense for anything otherworldly. 

“How does it make you feel?” You pry. Steve blinks at you in surprise, as if he hadn’t realised he spoke aloud. It would be useful for you to know how a non-magical person might feel; it could also give you insight as to what haunted the halls of the brothel. 

“Doesn’t encourage me to put my cock in some bird, that’s for sure. Bad for business, ‘cause that’s the whole point.” Steve grumbles, and you swear Bucky rolls his eyes. “How does it make you feel?”

The two men look at you with curiosity as you consider your words. Terrible? Awful? Yes, you felt unnerved, but you were accustomed to spirits and hauntings. Most places in this city had ghosts, whether they were malevolent or just lost. You had become unnervingly comfortable with the creeping sensation that you were not alone. It was an entirely different feeling to curses—no, curses, they twisted your gut in wicked ways—hauntings you were at ease with. There was an odd familiarity to them, it sparked a warmth in your soul. 

“Best I not say.” You land on. It would be better not to mess with the egos of gangsters, especially if they were afraid of a little ghost. 

The two men follow you as you step into the building. The inside is lavish, with a large, grand set of stairs that lead up to the mezzanine. Draperies hung from the balcony railings, and plush furniture, and decorations were artfully placed around the foyer. Despite its luxuriant appearance, there was an isolation that clung to the bones of the building. It was as if dust hung in the air, floating undisturbed. Not a breeze could get through the thick walls, nor could a breath of life. A place that was supposed to be rowdy, a den of sin and pleasure… silenced. As if it were a mausoleum. 

The building and those inside were lost in time, caught between a past that did not exist and a future that had not yet come. 

The peace is interrupted by a thundering noise, then shrieking. “Mr. Barnes! Oh, Mr. Barnes! So nice of you to come visit us!”

A few curious observers watch from over the bannisters. Beautiful women with tired eyes, hair swept up and curled into coiffures, and revealing dresses that clung to their curves. You suddenly felt rather overdressed in your winter clothes. 

An older woman descended the stairs in a frenzy, grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes were lined heavily with kohl, a bright pink blush across her cheeks, and lipstick to match. Her blonde curls bounced around her smooth face, a few longer strands following the dip of her dress. The madame of the brothel. 

Your lips purse together, and Bucky lets out a quiet sigh. “Madame Voss.”

“I trust you are here about the ghost?” The madame asks. She is rather excitable, like a puppy or a young child. Even Steve has grown uncharacteristically quiet, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and dread. “I told my girls you would be back to help! I said you were a busy man, but not to worry. We’ve lost a few since you were last here, Rose, Amorie, and Vivinne… but that is nothin’ to worry about. They were traitorous at heart—”

“Yes, I quite understand.” Bucky snaps over Madame Voss. Steve tries to hide a snort, and the madame is left momentarily speechless. “I’ve brought a witch.”

You feel the madame’s gaze rip from Bucky to you. She looks you up and down in one exaggerated sweep, then offers you a somewhat forced smile. She looks as if she is gritting her teeth as she drinks you in. You were left wondering if the madame had some type of unrequited infatuation with Bucky. Many of the women of Sootstone seemed to share such an attitude, especially if they did not have the wit to sense the danger attached to the handsome gangster. 

“She’s a bit too pretty for this business, don’t you think? I suppose all those witch women are a bit pretty. It’s usually glamours though, isn’t it?” There is an underlying spite to her tone as she assesses you, arms coming to fold over her chest. Her bosom is exaggerated, and her waistline is pulled pencil-thin by her corset. You are surprised the woman can breathe. “Well, are you wearin’ a glamour, girl?”

You hadn’t realised the madame was questioning you; actually, you found yourself rather overwhelmed by the whole display. Your lips part as you struggle to find your tongue and eventually stagger out a confused reply. “What?”

Madame Voss murmurs in annoyance, her arms uncrossed and hands coming to move in spirited gestures as she speaks. Bucky is staring at the ceiling as if bored out of his mind. “A glamour? You can’t tell me you normally look like that, all wide-fuckme-eyed?”

Steve makes a choking noise somewhere beside you while you gape at the madame. “No?”

“Huh.” 

“I work with spirits, not—” You cut yourself off, clearing your throat, and decide it was not worth the argument. “I’ll need some time to walk around ‘n get a feel for things. Maybe talk to some of the girls, if that is alright?”

“Fine by me.” Madame Voss waves you off, attention hastily pulled away as she turns to Bucky. “In the meantime, Mr Barnes, can I get you anythin’? Tea, biscuits… something else? You know my girls will always give you a discount—”

“Somethin’ to drink, perhaps. Somethin’ strong.” Bucky cuts off the Madame and claps Steve on the back. “What do you say, Steve?”

You got the impression that neither Bucky nor Steve liked this Voss woman. 

—

It did not take you long to explore the brothel in its entirety.

The establishment was compact and efficient. Downstairs was made up of the main foyer room, which was extended into a room similar to a drawing room. Tables made up the majority of the space, with playing cards and strong Smog Boys branded liquor decorated around the room. Comfortable furniture and suggestive art lined the walls. Out of view was a kitchen, a washroom, and madame’s office space, which Bucky would occasionally take residence in if dealing with business for the Pony Club. 

Upstairs was dedicated to private spaces, where the girls lived and worked. They were hesitant to speak with you, guarded and quiet. You did not get the sense that they were being abused or held against their will, but rather haunted by whatever spirit clung to the brothel. 

As the Pony Club slowly spiralled due to the haunting, many girls left. Business had grown to a standstill. The girls were plagued with nightmares and anxieties. The few that spoke to you recalled dreams of a dark figure who prowled through the halls, standing at the edges of their vision. At night, they would see the figure in the corners of their room, sitting on the edge of their bed. One girl even claimed the spirit sat upon her chest, that the mass had no face but two sets of shining white teeth that grinned down at her as she struggled to breathe. 

When the girls were not targeted by this mysterious figure, they were afflicted with memories of their past. Dark images would replay before them every time they closed their eyes until they awoke sweating and screaming. 

You bid farewell to an exhausted working girl by the name of Hanna. She sat on the bed, a woven blanket pulled over her shoulders. There was a distant look in her eyes as you quietly pulled the door shut, forcing yourself to inhale a deep breath as you stood on the empty mezzanine. There was an oppressive energy to the building, one that weighed down your chest as if someone were purposely crushing your ribcage. You knew your feelings were exaggerated due to your knowing, but there was certainly something potent enough here that even those with little to no sense could feel it. 

You slowly rotated around the mezzanine in thought, unsure where to begin. Most spirits had an anchor—an item, person, or space—that they bound themselves to. They used it to draw energy, recuperate, and recharge. In rare cases, a spirit might bind to an entire house, causing lesions and pus to drip from the walls. But in your experience, those houses had sat abandoned for years, decades, or even more. The house itself would become sentient, dripping with malice and blinded by rage for those who created it, only to leave it abandoned. That was a festering type of haunting, one of anguish and loneliness, but this… this brothel was active. There had once been clients, and multiple women still lived within its walls. So, where was the anchor? Nothing had screamed out to you; nothing had made bile churn in your stomach or your hair stand up on end—

You froze.

You were a few paces away from the staircase, your mind swimming in thought, and—

A dark mass stood on the top step. 

It watched you.

You couldn't make out the eyes or the shape of any humanoid body part. It just stood there, a black cloud over the staircase. But still, you could feel it watching.

And then it smiled. 

It smiled wide, yet it did not seem to have a jaw. There was no skull, nothing solid within its mass. Several pearly white teeth smiled at you, spiralling into a gaping hole. The pungent smell of decaying meat filled the air as the mist contorted and pulsated in a sickening rhythm while observing you.

Before you could even consider speaking or moving, the mass had swept down the staircase, disappearing from your view. You raced to the bannisters, leaning over as far as you could without launching yourself over the edge. Loose strands of hair danced around your face as you darted your head. You could still not make out the spirit. 

By the time you gathered your skirts and descended the staircase, you found the foyer empty. You could hear the distant trill of Madame Voss's voice deeper within the building, near the kitchen.

There was still that lingering oppression, an uneasiness that squeezed your chest. Regardless of how many times you whirled around, blindly scanning the foyer, you were unable to find a trail where the sensation intensified. 

Clenching your teeth together, you let out a sharp sigh and balled your hands into fists. You paused in one of the corners of the foyer, allowing the blood pumping in your ears to calm and your muscles to relax. You blocked out the distant voices, instead focusing on the hum of the environment. You were frustrated, yes, and maybe a little scared. Not of the spirit, but rather how Bucky might react if you told him that you couldn’t banish this ghost. Not because you were too weak or unaware of how to handle it—you were very much prepared in both areas—but because you couldn’t find it?

You were skilled at finding hidden anchors, but it was difficult to focus when you felt immense pressure on your shoulders alone. You closed your eyes and listened intently. You could feel each speck of dust swirling through the air and hear every small sound the walls and floors made as the wood settled. You could hear each fibre of the rug rustle as you gently tip-toed across the room, following an invisible line.

The string was knotted in a complex pattern, similar to a spiderweb. You could feel it brushing over your skin as you moved, growing taut as it tangled around your body. You pushed through the sensation as if wading into a pool of water, stepping deeper and deeper into its strands as they layered over your skin and clothes.

Then, a tug.

A slight tremor, a warbling as a single line was set alight in your mind. The spider—your ghost—was circling you like prey.

You grasped the string, following its current blindly through the foyer. You stumbled around furniture, tripping over the edge of a rug and—

The floorboard creaked beneath you.

It wasn’t a typical creak—not one of an old building or a settling house. No. The creak resonated through your mind, deafening you. Your hands rose to your ears, the shrieking growing louder and louder as you fell to your knees, wincing. The fibres of the rug bit into your skin, sending a rush of electricity coursing through your veins. Under the rug, the floorboard made a hollow thud, loud enough that your ears were ringing from the volume. 

You gasped in a breath, violently ripping yourself from your secondary state until you crashed back to reality. Panting, you found yourself crouched over the rug, fingernails dug into the fabric as you wheezed and panted. A cold sweat covered your body, your head aching as you tried to roll the discomfort from your shoulders. 

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with your witch, Mr Barnes.” Madame Voss spoke in a sing-song fashion as she entered the foyer, a condescending look in her eyes as she stared down at you. You wiped the sweat from your brow, forcing your wobbling legs to rise. 

“It’s underneath,” was all you were able to reply, your voice raspy as you stalked to the corner of the rug.

"Ominous," the madame retorted, her brows arched. Her gaze cast back to the two gangsters who watched from the entrance to the room. There was a curiosity in their stare, hands tucked in their pockets as you worked. You gripped the corner of the rug, peeling it away from the floor. Underneath, everything looked perfectly in order, with well-polished hardwood panels lined up in unison. Carefully, you walked the length, tapping your shoe on each floorboard.

“Well, you do know what they say… with magic comes madness!” Voss announced with a sly grin, her hands moving to flourish her words. Bucky cocked his head to the side, emitting a sharp exhale through his flared nostrils. 

"Let her work," he spoke up, and the tension in the room mounted. The madame's disapproving scowl only added to the oppressive atmosphere. The room fell into an almost palpable silence, broken only by the sound of your tapping as you methodically sought out the hollow board once more. You could sense the growing impatience of the group as you painstakingly worked, with each floorboard sounding as solid as the next. 

Just as Bucky appeared poised to call off your efforts, the floorboard beneath you emitted a hollow thud that reverberated through the space below. You tapped again, feeling the same hollow thudding from the adjacent boards. Looking up at Bucky, you gestured toward the floor, affirming, “It’s underneath.” 

Madame Voss gaped in astonishment at you and then turned her incredulous gaze towards the two gangsters. “Underneath? Underneath! This must be some kind of magical trick—in all my years working in this establishment, I have never heard of a basement or cellar!”

As Bucky waved at the woman, he made a disdainful noise in dismissal. The madame fluffed up, muttering under her breath in flustered embarrassment, and then stalked away a few paces. Bucky and Steve soon joined you, watching intently as you blindly felt around the edges of the wooden panels. As you investigated, your fingertips discovered finely carved grooves hidden within the wood—imperceptible to the casual observer but discernible to those who sought them out. The edges of the indents provided a perfect grip for you to dig your nails into the wood, allowing you to pry the board from the floor with little effort.

The three of you peered into the space below through the thin gap. It was pitch black, but you could make out some rickety stairs descending into the inky dark. A thick layer of dust sat upon the steps, a musty smell hitting your nose. 

You sat back on your haunches, peering closely at the board you had just managed to pry up. The wood was marred with deep gouges as if some kind of wild animal had relentlessly scratched and clawed at the panel. As you tentatively ran your finger across the rough and battered surface, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, sending a sickly shudder up your spine.

“Did you know this was here?” Steve mutters to Bucky from somewhere above you. 

You continued peeling up each of the loose boards, using the indents to grip the wood with your nails. The disgusting, nauseating feeling intensified as it became apparent that every panel had identical deep gouges carved into the wood.

“No,” Bucky replies, his voice hushed. 

When the hole is completely visible, you sink onto your knees. Now that light was flowing in, you could see more clearly. The dusty, ancient stairs descend to a stone floor. The stone appeared dry but extremely dusty. What appeared to be large, old wooden barrels and the beginnings of shelving against the walls were visible in the beam of light. You peer up at Bucky and Steve, who tower over you, and resist the urge to squirm as Bucky meets your gaze. 

“This is the anchor.” You explain, and Steve’s face twists, perplexed. 

“The pub—?”

“No. Spirits they… they bind themselves to something. An object, a person, a room. This is where the haunting originates.” You clarify and gradually rise to your feet, taking care not to collide with either of the men. 

You take a hesitant step down, the stair beneath groaning under your weight. You swallow hard, then spin in place to look back up at the gangsters who watch you expectantly. “I might need a candle.”

Without glancing back, Bucky clicks his finger at Madame Voss, who is attempting to peer into the mysterious room from her perch. “Voss. Candle.”

The madam, clearly exasperated, lets out a loud huff before turning on her heel and disappearing into one of the adjacent rooms. There is still a distinct taste of tension in the air.

“Looks like your old man's been a naughty boy.” Steve teases, a boyish smile emerging. Bucky remains silent, choosing not to dignify the gangster's comment with a reply. Their dynamic left you contemplating the depth of their relationship, especially since you had heard that Barnes was not particularly kind to those who mentioned his father. While Bucky's gaze remained blank and unmoving, you couldn't help but notice a subtle twitch in his jaw, betraying a suppressed reaction.

The Smog Boys were infamous for their cruelty towards their enemies, anyone who crossed them, and those who betrayed their trust. Bucky, in particular, was known for his ruthless approach to dealing with anyone who stood in his way. He carried out his actions silently and brutally, and by the next morning, everyone in The Warrens knew that Barnes had spilt blood. Despite the fear he instilled in others, Bucky remained calm and collected. He was a strategic thinker and planner, and he took pleasure in the sadistic ways his plans unfolded. Despite his fearsome reputation, he was still not as notorious as his father. 

His father exhibited a striking lack of cunning, care, or thoughtfulness in his approach. The Warrens endured a dreadful existence as George Barnes succumbed to alcohol-induced rampages. He embodied sheer strength, a fierce warrior whose white-hot rage could melt the most hardened of hoarfrosts. He instilled fear without cause, displaying psychopathic tendencies and craving notoriety through any means necessary. He bolstered the Smog Boys fostering terror through street attacks, gang wars, or burning entire buildings down as a message. Upon Bucky's ascension, the business adopted a quieter and more devious approach. Bucky was all about making money in a quick, quiet, and dirty way. His enemies didn't fear him because they knew what he was capable of, but rather because they never knew, and Bucky knew how to up the ante each time.

Around seven years ago, George had been arrested. He had been too loud and confident in his approach, and the coppers had snagged him. Bucky ran the business for his father, and the Smog Boys boomed with success. His father was set to go on trial, and it wasn’t an unknown fact that the judge had paid off. George Barnes was set to walk free and take over the business again. 

Two days before the trial, he was discovered dead in his cell, his body bearing the marks of a brutal, mysterious beating. There was no trace of evidence to scrutinise, and the guards remained silent, neither admitting guilt nor pointing fingers. The law turned a blind eye to the demise of a notorious criminal under their watch, and the incident was quickly swept under the rug, forgotten within hours. Bucky vehemently denied any involvement. He put on a public display of mourning, cursing the authorities and vowing vengeance, though his threats never materialized. It's also worth noting that Bucky shared a particularly close bond with his mother, Winnifred, who herself was not spared from the brutality of her husband. It was common knowledge that, behind closed doors, Winnifred, Bucky, and his younger sister Becca endured all manner of cruelty at the fists of George Barnes.

Years had passed since those fateful events, and Bucky's ascension to power remained unquestioned. No one dared challenge his authority, fearing both the brutal consequences and because The Warrens had silently celebrated in the wake of Senior Barnes' untimely demise.

The sound of Madame Voss' heels clicking against the hardwood floor signalled her return. You took the candle gratefully, eager to escape the awkward tension, and descended into the gloom.

The old wood stairs protest with every step, emitting squeaks and groans under your weight. Your sweeping skirts brush a fine layer of dust into the air, shimmering in the weak candlelight that struggles to pierce the shadows of the small, dimly lit room. You could only describe the space as a cellar, with its stone walls and floors exuding an eerie, uncomfortable atmosphere. Thick metal bolts secure wooden shelves laden with countless large glass bottles, while large barrels, shrouded in heavy blankets of dust, crowd the square room. In the dim corners, dense cobwebs collect. A place long forgotten.

Bucky and Steve carefully made their way down the creaky stairs as you delicately balanced the flickering candle on the edge of one of the dusty barrels. As you wipe away the accumulated grime, you uncover a label imprinted on the lid:  Property of SMOG BOYS—George Barnes. You squinted at the words in the low light, moving to the next as you tried to understand what was in these barrels. 

Behind you, Steve had grabbed hold of one of the large glass bottles and uncorked it with a sharp pop! He raised it to his nose, took a sniff, and then emitted a loud holler. "Shit, Buck. This is moonshine."

Bucky let out a grumbling noise of recognition, inspecting one of the barrels. “It must’ve been a storage space from the distillery. These barrels look like whiskey.” 

The two gangsters gathered near the barrels, muttering between themselves. 

“You sure he never mentioned this to you?”

“I’m sure. Don’t know why he was so determined to hide a bit of liquor. We have plenty of warehouses for this—”

You rounded the barrels, venturing deeper into the room. A row of shelves faced the centre of the room, with a narrow space between them that you could slip through. The candlelight barely reached the other side, obscured by the layers of barrels and bottles. You blindly stumbled into the empty space, feeling a familiar, thrumming sensation.

Invisible strings tangled at your ankles as you pushed deeper into the darkness, the warm flicker of candlelight barely illuminating what lay within. There, in the centre of the room, stood a solitary chair—a simple wooden chair. The thrumming grew louder, your heart pulsating as you gaped down at it. Thick sailor ropes coiled tightly around each arm and leg, faded remnants of blood splattered across the cold stone floor beneath. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around you, the air heavy with a sense of foreboding—

You jumped out of your skin as a hand rested on your shoulder. Bucky had followed you through the shelves. His eyes mirrored the unease that churned in your stomach, his face etched with a deep, troubled frown. You felt urged to speak up and console the man but you knew better than to fall into that trap. His presence was disturbingly comforting as if the dangerous gangster were not the apex predator in the room. All you could do was gape, tearing your vision away from the chair as you stumbled back a few paces. 

As quickly as you had found solace in the man, it was torn away. He stalked toward you, finger pointed as he jabbed it into your sternum. His eyes had glazed over, a thunderous rage taking shape. You sensed it was a defence mechanism, a way to intimidate you because you had seen something you weren’t supposed to—something that shocked even him.

“Not a word. You understand?” he hissed, his large, sculpted frame towering over you. You shrank back, your spine meeting the shelving, causing the moonshine bottles to clink together.

You knew what this place was. A hidden place. A forgotten place. A place where torture and death had been carried out. An echo from the past. A whisper on the wind that spoke the name George Barnes.

This was the kind of business Bucky kept meticulously hidden—a necessary evil shrouded in secrecy. Bodies were found only if he wanted to send a message. You were certain there were countless other hidden, unmarked graves. Bucky was too clever to be undone by a rogue body or misplaced trust. Every action he took was calculated to ensure it could never be traced back to the Smog Boys. Of course, everyone knew it was them, but legally proving their involvement was another matter. Despite the gang's reputation for being untouchable, the coppers constantly searched for any loophole to bring them down. Bucky's entire operation could unravel if the wrong person discovered incriminating evidence.

For all your understanding, The Pony Club was one of the few legitimate businesses under the Barnes name. If an enemy of the Smog Boys discovered a way to link this grim scene to the underground crime network Bucky managed? It could spell disaster. 

“Do you understand?” Bucky repeated, his voice dripping with venom. This was a side of him you had heard rumours of but had never witnessed yourself. This was the leader of the Smog Boys. This was the Bucky that made Sootstone cower.

You swallowed hard, nodding as you huddled against the shelves.

The gangster ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You could sense the conflict in his eyes as they darted between you and the chair. After rubbing his chin and jaw, he finally settled on resting a hand on your shoulder again, an oddly tender touch. His head dipped, and he muttered in your ear, “I need this ghost gone. Now, doll. I think it's best no one else sees my father’s handiwork.”

“I can—I can do that,” you stammered. The gangster gave you a slow nod, exhaled sharply, and then turned on his heels.

In the sudden emptiness, the thrumming in your ears became deafening, a relentless pulse that drowned out all other sounds. Your ears rang with a piercing intensity, and your breath quickened, coming in short, ragged gasps. The room seemed to close in around you, now suffocatingly tight. The walls pressed inward, and the air grew thick and heavy as if it were pushing against your chest. You felt an overwhelming sense of dread creeping into your bones, a cold, insidious fear that wrapped itself around your heart. Somewhere in the background of it all, Steve yelped. 

At first, you could not hear his distress, not over the noise in your head. It was only as Bucky paused by the narrow opening between the shelves, his eyes snapping to yours, that you heard Steve again—frantic shouts piercing through the deafening roar of a fire, overwhelming even the clamour in your head.

You move quicker than Bucky, darting through the shelves back into the candlelight.

Except it wasn’t the candlelight that lit the room in a blinding glow, but instead a figure engulfed in flame. You could make out bludged eyes and an agape mouth through the tendrils, which licked up the figure in a violent blaze. Steve was pinned with his back against one of the barrels as the figure, screaming and writhing, hurtled towards him.  

You hurry forward, positioning yourself between Steve and the burning figure. Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you closer as he shouted, "What the fuck?!"

The fiery figure hesitates, its swollen, bloodshot eyes flitting between Steve and you in confusion. Bucky had pulled what appeared to be a knife from his pocket and was circling the scene. Your brows furrow as you give him a puzzled look and free yourself from Steve's grip. 

“Put it away!” You bark over the roar. Bucky cocks his head to one side, both of you mutually surprised that you had found your voice. As you approach the figure, it retreats, the flames quickly extinguishing. Your ears ring as silence falls. The spirit has transformed into a black mass again, its shape twisting and jittering as it swings its gaze between the three of you. 

“It can read your memories. It feeds off fear and pain.” You explain to the two gangsters, hesitantly stepping forward once more. The spirit centres its eyes solely on you. “It shows you your darkest memories, the ones you've buried. It’s tryna scare you.” 

You do not dwell on whatever memory Steve was plagued by.

The spirit shifted once more, the dark mass disappearing into the shadows. You shallow your breath, quickly scanning the room before turning to Barnes. “The chair is the anchor. The spirit needs to be unbound.”

“And how do you do that?” He asks in reply, nostrils flaring. You step into the centre of the room, peering through the shelves into the dark space. Dread curled in your stomach as your eyes roamed the chair.

“I could destroy it or cleanse it—”

“Where's your mother, girl?” A familiar, slurred voice reverberated through the dimly lit room, sending shivers down your spine. Your entire body tensed, and your heart seemed to clench in your chest as a surge of fear momentarily halted you in your tracks. The acrid scent of alcohol mixed with the pungent odour of sweat hung heavy in the air. The heavy, unsteady footsteps of a large man reverberated over the stone floors.

“She’s sick.” A child's voice replied. Your voice. 

In front of you appeared a vivid scene. Your father, in a state of intoxication, stood before you. His body was angled in such a way that only the profile of his face was visible. His clothing was tattered, and the floors bore marks of mud and filth from his worn boots. His hair was dishevelled and sprinkled with ash, and his flushed face glistened with sweat. Facing him was a much younger version of yourself. You estimated her to be around eight years old, judging by the length of her hair and the ragged dress clinging to her emaciated frame. The child cowered against a door, her limbs trembling in fear.

“Sick? That damn woman is always sick. Get out of the way, girl, I need to speak with my wife.” Your father slurs, lurching forward. The child held steady, her back pressed defiantly against the door. 

“You can’t, she’s sleeping—”

A resounding crack echoed through the room as your father’s palm connected forcefully with her cheek. The impact sent her sprawling to the floor, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she fell. Tears shimmered in her wide, frightened eyes, reflecting the harsh light as they welled up and spilt over her cheeks. The room seems to hold its breath in the aftermath, the sharp sound of the slap lingering. 

“What’s this? Who’s that?” Steve spoke up from beside you. You had almost entirely forgotten that the two men were still in the cellar with you. Bucky watches on with morbid curiosity, but you do notice how the muscles in his jaw tighten. 

“A memory.” You mutter back. You urge your feet to move, but you feel as though you are wading through waist-deep water. 

“Some gall you have to be telling me what I can and can’t do in my own home, girl!” Your father charges through the door, his eyes wild and unseeing as he drunkenly stumbles over your younger self's frail body. Ignoring your cries, he leaves her sprawled on the floor, the door slamming shut with a jarring finality before she can react. Muffled shouting and screaming rise from beyond, chaos that drowns out her sobs. The child curls into a ball on the cold floor, trembling and sobbing as the shrieking grows louder. The walls thud and shake with the force of his rage, each violent sound echoing through the small room, amplifying the terror that grips her small frame.

“You’re not welcome here, spirit,” your voice cuts through the unfolding nightmare with unwavering authority. You can feel Bucky’s gaze burning into you, but you tilt your head defiantly. Momentarily sucked into the horror of it all, but now you stand unshaken. The scene pauses, and the child freezes in place as the shouting and banging abruptly stop. The spirit seems to contemplate your words, its image flickering before dissolving into a dark fog that settles in a dense layer across the stone floors. 

“I think destroying it would be easiest.” You mumble to the gangsters. Bucky’s lips were set in a fine line, his jaw still clenched, while Steve eyed you warily. “Burning it would be the best way.”

As if in response to your comment, the room burst to life once more. The two men stand on either side of you as if their curiosity is too much to dismiss as they realise it is another of your memories. 

This time, the version of you was older. A teenager. She perched on the edge of the docks, her legs dangling into the waters below. Next to her sits a boy roughly the same age. The two of them laugh and indulge in a shared bag of colourful, sugary treats.

“My dad keeps askin’ after you.” The boy says. Michael. Your gut twists. You knew what was to come. 

“I’m not joinin’ your dad’s weird cult.” She giggles, popping a boiled sweet into her mouth with a lopsided grin. Her hair was loose, uncaring as the breeze tangled it and ash fell from the skies. 

“He keeps goin’ on about how you’re some saviour—”

“Ew.” She replies, nose scrunching. The teen leans back on her palms with a sigh, looking across the docks. “You know me and my mum aren’t interested in that stuff. I’m not desperate like those other witches he tricks into joining. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve held on this long, you’re what? Seventeen? Why don’t you just get a job in one of the factories and get the hell out of there?”

Michael appears displeased by her response. You had never previously noticed, despite replaying the memory in your mind numerous times. In the past, you believed you were being helpful, perhaps even clever. You could see the wrinkle of discomfort in the boy’s face now. You knew all too well that breaking free from his father's control was never as easy as moving out. You had been naive to believe that. Michael had not called you a fool, which was probably a small act of kindness on his part.  

“How’s your mum?” He asks, gaze cast to the side to look at the teen’s profile. She shrugs, sucking on the sweet in thought. 

“Still sick. We saw that healer in the Smokestacks, said he might be able to do somethin’ about it.”

“You know my family could help—”

The teen gives him an irritated look. “You know my mum doesn’t want your help. She doesn’t even want me hangin’ out with you.”

The tranquillity of the scene had captivated you to the point where you lost awareness of your surroundings. It was only the looming sense of dread for what was about to unfold, the feeling of Bucky's sleeve brushing against your arm, and the audible, sharp intake of breath from Steve that jolted you back to reality.

“Oi! Lookie here! It’s—” The shout of a copper was warbled as you strode forward, the memory rippling like a pool of water. 

You had to prevent what was about to happen. You couldn't let Bucky see how everything truly unfolded. You knew you should have stopped it before it went this far. You shouldn't have allowed yourself to get pulled into this memory. Yet, there was a bittersweet comfort in seeing him again, remembering him as he was before everything went so wrong.

“Probably shouldn’t burn it down here. Those barrels catch and this place will explode.” You mutter under your breath, trying to ignore the sickness churning in your stomach as you approach the chair. As you draw closer, your eyes catch the gruesome details etched into the wood. Dark, crusted blood is splattered across the seat, each fleck and smear a silent testament. Streaks of crimson have seeped into the grain, staining the wood in a macabre pattern. The iron tang of old blood hangs in the air, mixing with the musty dampness of the room. Your hair stands on end and your nerves tingle as a shiver runs down your spine. The closer you stand, the more uneasy energy pulses through you. Summoning your courage, you grip one of the chair's arms and yank with all your strength—only to find it bolted firmly to the floor. 

Your stomach drops. 

You needed to get the two men out of this cellar and defeat this spirit yourself. You couldn’t stand their gazes upon you, waiting expectantly. You roll your shoulders, twisting your neck as a tight, itching sensation settles over your skin. You weren’t afraid of the memories, but rather the reaction to them. You didn’t want sympathy. Most of all, you didn’t want to be feared—to be viewed as a weapon. 

You knew that was what the Smog Boys truly desired—a tool to complete their dirty work. 

The memory came to life around you once more, stronger and more vivid. Michael was sprawled on the floor, beaten and bloodied, his face a mess of bruises and cuts. The coppers, young and full of arrogance, stood above him, their laughter echoing in the confined space. They were eager to prove themselves, and they relished every moment of his suffering, laying blow after blow into his broken body. Their cackles filled the room, mingling with the sickening thuds of their fists and boots against his flesh. 

“Let me go!” Your head swivels as you look to the other side of the room. There, the teenage version of you is held back by two men with bruising grips, their hands digging painfully into her arms. Tears streamed down her face, carving glistening tracks through the grime and dust. Her eyes are wide with terror and helpless rage as she struggles and screams, her voice raw and desperate. The men restraining her exchange smirks, their expressions cold and indifferent to her anguish. The room seems to close in around you now, the walls reverberating with the echoes of her cries and the relentless thudding of blows landing on Michael. You were powerless, trapped in a living nightmare.

You needed to stop this—

There was a loud crunch, the agonising sound of bone snapping and shattering under a steel-toe boot. Michael has grown still, his body is no longer convulsing with pain. His face was unrecognisable—a grotesque mask of bruises and blood, the features obliterated by the relentless assault. His skull is misshapen, cracked open against the stone curb, a dark pool of blood is spreading beneath him.

Somewhere in the distance, the past version of you wails, a heart-wrenching sound that seems to come from the depths of her soul.

She was scrambling on her knees over the filthy streets, her body shaking with sobs as she gripped Michael’s lifeless form. Her fingers, trembling and desperate, searched for any sign of life, but you knew now that it was pointless. Michael was dead. He had died the moment they cracked his skull open. Blood smears her hands and clothes as she clings to him, her tears mixing with the grime on the ground.

She shakes his body, begging him to wake up. The coppers continue to snicker amongst themselves. They are unphased by the blood and flesh painted across their boots, their faces twisted in smug satisfaction. 

“That’s enough now.” You spoke up in the present, tone low and warning. The spirit hesitates, and the teen pauses, her body relaxing as the sobbing stops. Her head twists around, her eyes a milky white as she looks directly through you. 

“I know what you are.” The spirit spoke through the memory of you. Her gaze shifted to look at the coppers. Their figures are silent, but their shoulders shake with laughter, an amused indifference as they watch the suffering before them. “Spirit-raiser…diviner…light-bringer.”

Her eyes start to glow, a bright white that blinds the room. You know what is to come. You know what happens next. The shelves and barrels begin to rattle around you, and dust is stirred up into clouds. You could hear Steve swearing somewhere behind. Her sights move to the coppers, a knowing smirk fading into a cruel frown. Her hand raises into the air, fingers moving to snap—

Your hand has subconsciously raised. The ground trembles beneath you. It isn’t from the past; it is present. It was you at this exact moment, touching your fingers together. The ceiling above you groans, bottles of moonshine shattering across the floors as they fall. Behind you, Bucky and Steve yell over the commotion, calling to you. You can feel the crackle of electricity in the air and map every particle that flutters in the air. The chaos rises in your chest as you summon it forward. The crackle of energy grows higher and higher until the tingling sensation meets your fingertips. 

You snap your fingers, and a deafening crack echoes through the cellar. For a moment, everything grows still. Your body begins to glow, emitting a bright white light that fills the room, even stronger than the spirit's light. The intensity of it is blinding, obliterating every detail with a searing brilliance.

The room explodes around you. 

Bits of wood splinter, torn from their fixtures and launched through the air. Barrels explode with a thunderous roar, whiskey gushing out in torrents that splash and pool around your ankles, the potent scent of alcohol overwhelming your senses. The entire room shudders and rocks from the impact, the walls groaning under the strain. You were momentarily assaulted by the barrage of debris—sharp shards of shelving and glass raining down around you. Until Bucky grips you. Amid the chaos, he seizes your waist, pulling you into the shelter of his chest to shield you from the storm. 

Steve has vanished up the stairs, the floorboards above rattling with each of his hurried steps as the earth finally settles. The room falls into an eerie silence, the only sound being the gentle sloshing of liquor around your feet.

There is a large crack in the stone floor where the chair used to be. 

You pull yourself from Bucky’s grip rather unceremoniously, frowning as you pull shredded wood from your hair. The gangster eyes you cautiously, clearing his throat as he retreats backwards. “Are you gonna explain what that was?”

You were unsure what he was specifically referring to—whether it was the haunting memories or the raw power you had just unleashed. Regardless, you didn’t feel up to explaining either. A deep weariness had settled into your bones, your muscles aching from the exertion of channelling such immense energy. A thin trail of blood had begun to leak from your nose, the metallic taste of copper lingering as you absentmindedly licked your bottom lip in thought. 

You should not have done that. But they would have found out either way. 

Your fingers instinctively came up to rub your temple as you let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. With magic weariness came a tinge of irritation and snarkiness—it was a familiar companion after such displays of power. At that moment, you couldn't summon the will to care about how dangerous Bucky was or how he could ruin your life. All you craved was the simple comfort of lying down and perhaps indulging in a strong drink or two to ease the embarrassment of the situation.

Above, Madame Voss's shrill shrieks pierce through the ceiling, amplifying the headache pounding behind your skull. You knew the entire row of buildings would have felt the surge of energy you had just unleashed. One could only hope that the coppers wouldn’t investigate too closely into the disturbance.

Ignoring his previous question, you speak up. “You should invest in gettin’ your buildings properly cleansed.” 

Maybe that would make him and his men shut up about your faulty locks.

You go to walk away, but Bucky's firm grip on your forearm halts your movement, holding you back. His head cocks as he looks you up and down, his eyes sharp and calculating. “I don’t know much about magic, but I know witches don’t just summon shit like that out of thin air.”

If you were one of his dogs, your hackles would have raised, teeth bared. You look him down defiantly with a scowl. “Respectfully, Barnes, you don’t know shit about magic. I keep your secrets; you keep mine. That’s the deal, isn’t it?”

His lips curl into an astonished smirk, pleased as equally as he was stunned by your tone. His head dips down, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low murmur. “You know, doll, if you weren’t growing on me, I would have you killed for speaking to me like that.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath tickling against your skin, his proximity stirring a mix of emotions within you—wariness, curiosity, and a hint of something deeper that you couldn't quite define. You knew better than to let the boundaries between you blur. You give him a mocking pout, wrenching your arm from his grip. “I know you won’t kill me, if you wanted to kill me, I would be dead already. You’ve decided I’m valuable, haven’t you? Who would break your curses and scare away the skeletons in your closet? You must know that I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I don’t want to help you, we’re not friends.” 

His jaw tenses slightly as he processes your words, and his voice is flat as he speaks. “The most valuable thing a woman like you can offer is what’s between your legs. And you gave that up pretty easily.” 

His lips curl into a sneer. “I suppose the magic is a bonus. But I know you’re little more than a whore beneath it all.”

Several emotions flicker through your chest. Pain, frustration, disillusionment. You should have known better. You knew better. You don’t dignify the gangster with a response, instead turning on your heel to march out of the cellar. 

“I’ll have someone come fetch you when you’re next needed, spirit-raiser,” he calls after you, his tone mocking. 

You ascend the stairs without looking back.

PART THREE

[hyuukais]

Waiting

Finally, after many busy weeks, you’d be getting to see your boyfriend again. Beomgyu was coming home for an entire weekend. However, you were still stuck at the worst part of his return, the waiting.

word count: 1.5k

genres: beomgyu x streamer!reader, slice of life, fluff, insinuations of angst

warnings: language, mentions of executive dysfunction, reader plays zelda specifically botw because i do not have totk 👎👎👎👎

author: FINALLY SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY !! hopefully i will have more content coming soon im just in a major slump atm 😔 also shoutout to @ssunnae & @bobariki sunny and rue thank you both so so much for beta-reading this !!

The colorful LEDs shift along the floorboards, currently a fog of purple misting the floor. Trickles of soft mood music set the low-light room into its sleepy atmosphere. Two large monitors illuminate your face in blue light, aided by a small ring light situated to your left. Amid the calm, an underwhelming rage slowly fizzles up in your throat.

“Oh come on; not right now, please!” The sudden battle music picking up in your headphones sends you into a panic as an enemy health bar appears at the top of the screen. Rain crashes on Link, lightning streaking across in pixels. Your fingers smash around frantically, trying to run away as the Lynel begins to draw its bow.

“Please please please please, don’t-” Unable to draw a weapon or get away, a hard strike lighting descends on the character. The hearts filling the top left of the screen go dark.

“God-fuck!” Red light blinds your eyes with the large “Game Over” fading onto the screen. Your head slams down onto the desk, the top of it all that’s left in view of the camera. The long-winded groan that leaves you is still picked up well by your mic. Chat messages fly fast along your monitor; many expressing their simple sympathy for your defeat, others instead laughing at the situation.

Slowly drawing yourself back up, you catch on the monitor displaying the stream and take a moment to look at everything. “Man…I know I said today was only gonna be Zelda but…this is already the 7th time I’ve died.” Your words trail into a whining laugh. More comments flood the chat. Some call out your terrible playing, some suggest other ideas for the rest of the stream, and many are just extremely off-topic.

“I’m not usually this bad! I don’t know what’s happening to me.” You were out of it today, unfocused, and part of you knew why. “I guess…I dunno, I think I’m just tired!”

This space-y feeling had been following you all day. It was the sort of distance your brain felt when experiencing executive dysfunction. Stuck in a loop of boredom; waiting for something, anything. Struggling to do anything, but still wanting to. Oftentimes, it was hard to discern a particular reason for the feeling, maybe burnout or simply worms in your brain. Today, however, you could easily guess the reason. Today, there was something to wait for. After more than a few weeks apart, Beomgyu would finally be coming over.

You and your boyfriend were both busy people; both public figures in your own right. Although, his schedule as an idol was arguably stricter than yours as a streamer. Between the end of the North America leg of the tour, preparing for their Japanese comeback, and the new single, you hadn’t seen Beomgyu face-to-face in close to a month. It was like spending a month in hell. A month without having his hands in yours, body wrapped in your arms, lips painting your skin, heartbeat beneath your fingers; the reminders that he was real and he was all yours. So, now that you’ll finally get him all to yourself for a whole weekend, your brain was searching for any way to skip to having him back in your arms. Hence, why Link has died more than five times by your incompetence.

“Maybe-uh-why don’t we switch gears? Maybe Zelda was a bad idea.” Considering your head space, streaming today in general may not have been the best of your ideas; you still felt bad for skimping out on a regularly scheduled stream. You also kind of hoped streaming would give you some distraction from sitting by the front door like a puppy.

You click around, filling the screen up with your face as you exit the game. “Hmm…what about…animal crossing? Minecraft? Thoughts, chat?”

You watched message after message fly by, all varying that you don’t actually reach a consensus with them.

“I think…hmm…” You watch a moment more, “Okay, I think we’re gonna do Minecraft.”

Once again, your face cam is moved to the corner as your PC feed takes up the stream. The ambient music takes over for your voice, filling up the silence as things load. Grass blocks and wood load in first before the sudden appearance of buildings. You spawn near a small farm you last left off building.

This wasn’t the world you usually streamed from; preferring the action a survival world provided for content. Actually, this was a world you’d created and built with Gyu, and some of the other members much after you invited them. Although, your audience didn’t need to know any of that. “I’m just going to stick to creative this time, chat. Something…calmer, y’know.”

Soon enough, you find yourself sinking into a rhythm with the music. You keep working on the farm you left unfinished, fixing it up with the build of a greenhouse. Little commentary is provided; small tidbits here and there as you casually speak to yourself. Humming to the music at times and finding some focus on small tasks.

Your headspace shifting from inattentive to hyper-fixated, you’re not particularly tuned into any noise besides what’s pumping in your head. Perhaps that’s why you don’t notice the usual creak of the hallway floorboards or the awful squeaking of your office door. You don’t even see all of the chat messages taking note of those very things. Rarely looking away from the game, there’s no note in your mind of the torso slowly creeping up behind your chair; head just out of camera view, hands sneaking up to your headset.

It’s sudden, the relieving of pressure against your ears, the disappearance of your soft tunes, the realization that there is a person in your home and they are standing behind you.

Your scream is shrill and unending. The whiplash from how fast your turn around would have your head spinning if not for the new pumps of adrenaline coursing through you.

There, standing behind you, wearing the stupidest little cocky smile, is the cause of all your problems. Beomgyu was smart enough to keep his face just outside of the camera, hiding his identity from any viewers. Still, with pretty much the rest of him in frame, this is the largest glimpse your audience has ever gotten of your boyfriend. The chat reacts accordingly to such a realization.

You scramble around to mute your microphone and cover your camera; cutting off your connection as more and more chat messages fly faster along the screen. Nothing else matters though, as you spin your chair around to face the man looking down at you. He’s smiling still, eyes crinkled up and lips split wide. The way you leap at him sends him stumbling back.

Beomgyu’s hands come to cradle your back as you take him in your arms; feel him, his heat, his breath, the shake in his chest when he chuckles. His head settles upon yours. You squeeze his middle tighter and tighter and take in the depth of his scent. Head pressed against his chest, his heart beats softly in your ear.

“That…” You pull yourself away to get a look at his face, “was mean.”

He laughs as you slap at his arm; languorously boisterous, infectious with the happiness of his simple presence. A smile breaches your cheeks, soon enough, as well. Beomgyu’s hands tickle along your waist; keep you close, skin touching skin.

“It was a surprise.”

“More like a jumpscare!”

“Same difference.” His breath brushing your skin all this time finally comes ever closer. Douses you in his everything. A sweet peck on your lips, interrupted by a smile and a whisper. “I missed you.”

The fire of his words floods the pit of your stomach. His lips were barely pulled away from yours and yet that was too far. Your hands cupping his cheeks, pull him closer, filling your space with his. Breaths mingling with heavy words.

“I missed you, too.” You bring his mouth to yours; sway in his presence and feeling. Almost pulling away before more. “So much.”

Head tilted back, chest pressed into his, lips meeting in reverie. Beomgyu’s arms encase your waist; your fingers twirl in his hair. So soft, delicate, fluffy—so like him. Such is the kiss. Deep and sweet, nothing further than adoration. It’s intoxicating sugar; he’s delicious and addicting. His taste sticks to your lips as they leave his. Eyes still fluttered shut, taking in the disappearing feeling.

“I…have to finish off my stream.” You can barely stand to push him away, losing the soft brush of his thumb beneath the hem of your shirt, “You get yourself situated and I’ll be right there.”

The pout on his lips is nothing short of goading after losing your kiss. Still, he responds, although not without an eye roll. “Okay, but if you’re not done in 10 minutes, I get to choose the movie tonight!”

He plants a quick peck on your cheek before leaving you in the office. You have to laugh at how proud he is of that challenge as if you weren’t going to let him pick anyways. Though now, you may just have to get your own bit of payback and not leave him waiting.

© HYUUKAIS 2023

[ganondoodle]

Since you said it's ok to send you random ask, i've always found your "monsters" design to be really really gorgeous, and I wanted to know : in any form of media you've interacted with, what's PEAK monster design for you ?

i have been thinking about this ask alot bc ... i dont ... know? theres a problem with what counts as a monster really too, most are either some sort of anthro/furry or the horror gore type of monster that instills you more with disgust than awe

i guess theres some i really like but idk if thats what id call 'peak' (though its rarely JUST the design but their vibe and stuff too);

(its a lot of zelda.. sorry)

Eldra, Farodra and Naydra (engl Dinraal, Farosh(?)) though Eldra is def my fav one of them, i like how they are a little more less typical dragon- with the fur around the neck the floppy ears and kinda goofy face yet manage to be the most ethereal, awe inspiring creature i have ever seen in a game with how they act and are presented as (in BOTW!!! do not mention anythign sonau/zonai with stupid magic pebbles to me about them i will manifest worms into your tea)

Leunen (Lynels) (botw) -i could not find a better picture wtf, fav are white and silver ones) FINE they had some pretty neat new horn designs in totk- idk i just like them alot, rather simple if you think about it, horse lion plus horns- but its so well put together it just kinda scratches my brain in a good way (also how intelligent they clearly are, like the way they fight and act and also even their death animation is so??? huh?? you are just gonna treat them like any other mindless monste- *remmbers they treat ganondorf even even worse all things considered* .. nevermind you're good)

'Beast' Ganondorf (twilight princess) its my favorite beast ganon design (even if it technically is just kinda a man boar .. again) though if ww gan had a non puppet beast form that one would most definitely be my fav lol (i will not get over the fact that some descriptions call this a hideous beast EXCUSE ME???? WHERE???) (honorable mention here, darkbest ganon from botw, pig on fire but it looks cool as fuck)

Nimbusgarde (ww) .. (engl .. darknuts?) do i need to say anything? (i could throw alot of ww design here) not sure if it counts as monster but they are not human so ????

the pathless bosses- (here in order, Cernos, the Godslayer, and Kumo) all of them are rad as hell (except for the final version of the godslayer ... liek im sorry but it looks to boring compared to any other one lol) again not just the design but man do i love them

since i dont know what would count as a monster or no i could just list my fav characters here bfmjbfmjsbmj like radahn (elden ring) is just kinda a zombie, aurelion sol (league of legends) is a space dragon, the forest god in princess mononoke, Narisha (skyward sword- sky whale)- i could go on but this post is long already (honorable mention to Omus in nausicäa, weird bugs but also something divine, though it is much more how they are treated and the vibe etc)

in all honesty though i cant think of one that i would describe as perfect, what i want of a monster design is to be ... cool but also a little weird, big hulking monsters that have something off about them and something that makes them 'other', but also not, as much as i like bloodborne, just bloody gory messes of rotting flesh, AND not just as a monster to kill, i just crave a game or otherwiese piece of media where the cool monsters arent just there for you to kill- the perfect one i guess would be something kinda big scary weird and off but while non verbal clearly not a mindless beast?

and here is the thing; my own characters do not furfill that, my designs are really rather conservative, much to my dismay, anthro of a mix of animals, maybe an extra arm thrown in- Eadrya, one of my favorites, is really just a blueish furry (yes they have fur) and their demon form is a mix of seals and catfish with some extra arms, too many teeth and a mouth that goas wayy to far (if they want) - Shargon is a feather dude with extra arms and his demon form is really just a chinese type dragon crossed with a bird, throw some darts at the color wheel, done

together with my problem of my monster characters losing their 'otherness' vibe within the story rather fast bc the majority of my characters are non human and speak and you see them in all sorts of emotions and parts of life- they lose that divine, unknown vibe and i HATE that that happens, i want them more akin to the forest god in mononoke but thats not possible unless i start from scratch

and i really dont mean to make myself look bad to sound self depre- ... however you spell that; i really am rather dissatisfied with my own designs but mostly just roll with what i got bc i never seem to be able to actually achieve what i want

even my redesigns often really make things LESS interesting (unless maybe the og was just ... human, but they are blue eyed with golden hair and white so that makes them divine you seE-), the skyward sword dragons as i redesigned them made them much more classical dragon, in part intentional bc i was drawing a connection of them becoming the botw dragons at some point, but by all means the canon design is much more weird and unusual than what i did with them, you could apply the same to even demise, his canon design might seem a little uninspired but really what did i do? inject him with some classic satan spice like that makes it in any way less stereotypical evil demon ??? lol

im sorry this post devolved into whatever this is but i really am trying to answer sincerely, i am confused about it myself, what counts as a monster, what doesnt, there must be more that i really loved but why cant i think of them, why do i design characters like this when i really want something much more different, i dont know, i feel like my brain is in a cage, why do i keep making things less interesting in an effort to make it interesting, am i falling into the corporate trap of cool sells who am i what am i doing

(theres a zelda artist with a style so strikingly genuis in shape, color and just .. DESIGN that i want to chew my nails off bc i cannot design like them, their designs and redesigns are so different yet sensical and so full of crisp shapes i have never seen before it drives me nuts and i would want to give them a shoutout but i think they dont like me so aaaaarhekjbfhgdknbgdfklbg)

[meromidas]

while my wax wing wilson/icarus house is marinating in my brain, i am thiking about! a house/tma crossover!! idk how much these fandoms overlap but its fiiine im doing this for myself

i just think it’d be cool ok. like, these guys work in a hospital! there are so many options for fear-touched patients!!! some of the patients are avatars, some of them have just had encounters. most of them are in this in-between space, where they’re not avatars, but not not avatars; they’re still a little human, but at the same time, they’re not human anymore.

anyway, there’s gonna be a corruption patient. whether that be mold or worms/maggots, or whatever, it’s corruption. they’re at a hospital. it’s gross. i think one of the doctors/nurses would get marked.

so. yeah. corruption patient. but what about, oh i dunno, a buried patient? they have water in their lungs, and no matter what procedures used to get said water out, it comes back. they are always drowning, and there is nothing that can be done. strangely enough, the patient doesn’t seem to be in any pain.

a dark patient, who is effectively blind, despite nothing being wrong with their eyes. a flesh patient with way too many bones. an eye patient who is basically another Albrect Von Closen, they do scans or x-rays or wtv, and they find “tumors” and go to do surgery; surprise! all they find are eyes, all over his organs, bones, etc.

a desolation patient, which i have vague lore planned out for, and has become an oc. i will maybe make a post abt them later.

there’s just! so many options!!!

EDIT: look at the tags teehee :3

[omega-e123]

okay i got a headcannon just about shadow in general, but its gonna maybe sound crazy but hear me out- the worms of ideas have infested my brain tonight.

Alright so shadow has a hidden G-tube or at least scars from one. (Both options would be hidden by his fur). Now hear me out as to why, in shadows early days it in at least inferred that he was in and out of his tube. So i imagine in these days when he was still growing this is how they provided his body with the nutrion he needed until he was of an stage in his experimental development where he didnt need it anymore. Or just at least used while he was 0ut in his tube in these early stages.

If he still had it prehaps it would be because the ark was raided before it could get removed. I imagine if it wasnt he would subtley try to hide it and keep it. Due to it reminds him of maria, due to she may had possibly had one two. If he didnt still habe it then the scars would be possibly from where g.u.n. took it out.

Also as my worms eat at this idea i can imagine that shadow would be very picky about making sure his s/o had the proper nutrition, and isnt skipping meals. Due to the importance of why he had the tube reminds him of how even he in his early ages couldnt go on to be the ultimate lifeform had he not got what he needed. This hedgy wants to keep you strong and this is one way he does it, being sure your eating well and have what you need.

Not sure what other ideas to put on top of his headcannon so this is what i got, im sorry this is all over the place but the worms be eating at dis.

HELLO YES. I LOVE WHERE YOUR BRAIN IS AT.

Considering how much self-loathing Shadow exhibits from what we’ve seen from recent animations.. this would def add to it I feel.

But ofc, if Maria had it or seeing his S/O, his attitude on it changes. His partner finding out about it, learning he’s hiding it probably would lead to a sit down discussion.

“Is it really that unsightly?”

“No! That’s not it!”

It’s not only a painful reminder of the ark.

Reiterating, “Without this, I wouldn’t be where I stand today. I would not be the ultimate life form if I had not gotten the proper nutrients to grow one way or another.”

Screeeeeeee!!

[yuri-is-online]

Sorry if this ask makes absolutely no sense I just need you to know the absolute emotion I feel because of this Ayuu.

I need you to know just . how close to tears I am . I just reread your Azul meeting his Yutu and I am. IM CRYING. THE “Your daddy’s here” IS TAKING ME OUT AND SHOOTING ME DEAD . IM GENUINELY TEARING UP. I think I’ve read every part so far twice over, barring the Yuu specific ones cause they Hurt Me. Speaking of hurt, Deuce!Yutu and Riddle!Yutu hurt me so so bad . All of the Yutus do, but they’re the ones that just came to mind rn and it’s so so sad. Especially Riddle! Yutu because he hates his dad :( Idek why I might’ve blocked out why LMAO,,, I love all the Heartslabyul characters and their kids it makes me cry. Especially Trey. He’s such a weirdly domestic freak that the idea of him being denied the family life he’s always been content with is so so sad. ALL OF THEM . THEY MAKE ME SO SAD BECAUSE THEY WANT TO BE WITH YUU!! They want to be with Yuu, and most of them are obviously happy to have a kid, but to know that that’s been taken away from you by circumstances that are literally destroying the world you live and love in? Yeah. That’s Rough!!

I would love to see Jamil!Yutu and how Jamil reacts to his child feeling guilt for something he never did, was never responsible for, and again has to suffer through because of the family theirs has been forced to serve. I think he’d be so mad, so so mad this boy has grown up thinking he’s the biggest blight of his father’s life, the cause of his death, when in reality he’s probably someone Original Timeline! Jamil would have cherished.

I LOVE YOU RUGGIE BUCCHI!!! Sorry I needed to cry that out this made me love him so much more!!! And Rook!! I love you Rook Hunt you weirdo. Ruggie being like “Idrk what to do… but I can bug Leona about it” is so so real. Him not caring if his son is charismatic as long as he knows his cards and is able to survive. Rook as a phantom is genuinely breaking my heart idk why. All of the phantoms break my heart. I don’t want to imagine anything abt them if I do because if I imagine them having even a fraction of sentience I’m heartbroken. Imagine being unable to prevent something from possessing you. Imagine your body and soul being used to tear your home apart— imagine seeing any of that through your own eyes. Imagine seeing your own kid after years of thinking them missing. I would genuinely not be able to handle that. It’s giving the Last of Us zombies where they’re completely aware and conscious throughout the first phase. Scared . Heartbroken .

Anyways, this au is 100000/10 I need you to know this. YOUR MIND IS SO SO BRILLIANT!!! I’m probably gonna keep rereading everything you’ve written so far about it because I’m having so many brain worms . So so many. Sorry for this ramble!! Please ignore this ask if for any reason I might have said something you didn’t like >:]]]] I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL YEAR!!!!

;-; ty so much for your kind words anon I am injecting them into my veins to continue writing. You have said nothing wrong, rambles are nice to receive, though my ask box is a bit cluttered at the moment and I am super busy so getting to things in a timely manner is not something I am able to do.

Riddle! Yutu was the first one to get a post, and I am tempted to re do it as I was still figuring out the format. He hates his dad because he wasn't there for him when he was a child and he doesn't know why. In the good timeline he's something of a daddy's boy; he really wants Riddle to be proud of and praise him

After I finish editing the second part of Rook's post you will be pleased to know the next post is about Jamil. I'm still formulating the outline of it because I've been thinking some thoughts about stars and unique magics

The way I write the phantoms they posses the instincts of their former selves but the individual lacks the input you might associate with consciousness. I'll get more into it in the second half of Rook's post... but there is a degree of awareness of their actions.

There's a lot of tragedy in this ayuu, I'm glad I'm hitting my stride with it c: it's nice to know people are liking it

[glitter-alienz]

I'm gonna talk about this once and only once. because I really don't have the energy for arguments.

yall know when someone makes a human pinkie pie design and she's white and skinny (which is fine, do what you want) and hundreds of people in the comments are like "finally, a normal pinkie pie" or something along those line. <- (I've mainly seen this on tiktok and insta)

i keep thinking those comments have to be satire cuz there is no way people actually think that. but they do. and its so fucking funny. pinkie pie is a fictional pony. why do people get so heated up when a rando fan on the internet draws her black?? their asshole is so itchy they got worms in there they cant just sit. they HAVE to go show their racism. if you don't like when someone draws a non-human character as a black person please sit down and think why does it make you so mad? why does black pinkie fill you with so much rage? why is her being a black person a problem? why is some random stranger on the internet drawing her as black making you so upset, even tho that's just fanart and it doesn't affect canon, because she's not a human in canon. why do you feel like you have to let them know how much you hate pinkie being black? nobody wanted your opinion.

and people just loooove to hate on fat people which sucks. shocking that people have different body types. your cartoon pony being drawn chubby shouldn't make you this upset. get help please <3

anyways, this goes for like,, all the ponies and other media where the main cast isn't human (and ofc this includes tmnt, the amount of people who have a problem with the human turtles being drawn as black or blasian is so insane) why does harmless FANart / HEADcanons have so much power over people?? live your life man stop harrassing people over their fanart. its never that serious. fan works are just that, FAN works. its no big deal

I'm just ranting about this to get it off my brain, this was lowkey why I never posted my mlp humanizations anywhere (except pinkie on insta once, ended up deleting it) but im thinking that i should like.. do what i want. this is my house after all

tldr; I keep seeing people relieved to see a human design of pinkie pie that isn't black. and the fact that people care that much and get so upset over a fictional pony being drawn as black person BY A FAN is so funny and annoying at the same time.

[pigfriends]

the OTHER thing im in the mood for. being filled up with worms/slugs.

maybe an adventurer in a dungeon ends up on the wrong side of a trap and now they're naked in a dark pit and slugs the size of a thigh are forcing their way into every hole, squirming around in their guts and womb and tits, setting up their new home... sliding through your pussy, already an unimaginable stretch, not to mention the feeling once it reaches your cervix... or the ones on your tits, you barely even knew that was possible until suddenly the smallest slender tailtip is forcing itself into your nipple and you're screaming/moaning at the sight and the fedling, the obscene gape as your tits stretch to accomodate the intrustion, the overwhelming feeling of your skin being stretched from within, your tits forced to expand around the wriggling body staking its claim on you. imagine one squirming up your ass - forcing itself in slowly, not because it cares for your comfort but because you're just that tight and it's just so big. and once it's in you can feel the massive weight of it bulging its way up your system. Can you imagine the pressure, feeling like you're gonna puke as this huge, squishy, slimy thing forces itself up your throat and out your mouth...

and you're trapped down there, just being used as a warm shelter for dozens of these things, forcing themselves in and out at their leisure. and after a while, maybe you've gotten used to the stretch by then, maybe not, they breed and lay eggs in your womb, your guts, your tits. and when they hatch you'll have so more of them crawling all over you, smaller than the adults, handfuls of them nearly falling out of your obscenely open holes. and then imagine the babies exploring the littler holes, the truly tiny spaces the fully grown ones couldn't get to, and now you have small, finger-sized crawling up your urethra and in/out of your nostrils and ears. but, naturally, they won't stop visiting their favourite spots just because they're starting to grow, and get a little bigger, you'll just have to get used to the stretch day by day...

of course your pussy and your ass and tits are just totally ruined, constantly gaping and dripping with slime (and maybe some of your own fluids 🤭 did you come to this? or is it all just piss?), and you can see the slugs move beneath your sagging skin, can feel the wriggling bulges under your hands as they maneuver inside of you. you've gotten used to just letting your jaw hang open, even when you don't feel any trying to move out or come in through your mouth, it's just easier to let it happen, your face totally covered in snot and drool and slug slime, your eyes staring blankly up at nothing...

maybe you've even learned how to enjoy it! maybe it was the constant stimulation - even in places that were never meant to be touched, or the addicting stretch and pulse of the hot, squishy bodies against yours, or maybe you've just got slugs in your brain 🥰 but either way, you're a totally useless, blissed-out home for them now, a warm soft broodbag as they breed, hatch, grow, repeat - inside you, under you, on top of you, everywhere. your whole world has been reduced to big, slick, wriggling monsters spreading every inch of you open, and you love it.

[marcusbrutus]

I feel like I have a tumblr anon in my brain…. Like a tiny cop. But it’s an chronically online anonymous weirdo. And every thought I have, I get “anons” telling me how it’s problematic and I should kill my self LOL The other morning I saw an RFK sign and I thought doesn’t he have brain worms, someone running for president shouldn't have brain worms. maybe apply for literally any other job. and the anon was like ummm ableist much? Like WHAT. I turned off anon on tumblr a while ago, so even if I post something “risky”, someone will have to tell me what they think to my face. They can’t hide. Even posts I think are innocuous can be wildly misinterpreted, and someone will probably call me problematic. But even if no one says anything, I still hear it. In my brain. Sometimes I delete things because the thought is so strong. I’m probably not gonna make it to any heaven or enlightenment because I can’t forgive yourfaveisproblematic. In my mind, Tumblr was great before then, or at least it felt that way, and that blog sewed the seeds for cancel culture in the future. That stuff sticks to my brain, even if I don’t want it too. When you put sins like "said disabled people shouldn't be alive" on the same level as "has a tattoo in a language they don't natively speak," it is very confusing to a people-pleasing undiagnosed autistic 14 year old. I felt/feel like I can’t like anyone or anything because it’s ~problematic~ I worry it will never go away, because it affected me in my developing years, 14-19 I want to get better, but it’s hard. I wish I could run from the internet, but I can’t. It’s a part of life now. It’s how we stay connected. But it’s also like…. Idk. The internet used to be my safe space, right? Deviantart. Early tumblr. Seeing weird people like me made me feel less alone. I was a weeb surrounded by “preps” for lack of a better word, not that I didn’t have friends but NONE of them were into what I was into, you know? And no one became as obsessive about things like books and anime like I did, except online. But now it’s like, idk, corruption of the garden of Eden. But instead of me eating the fruit, the garden/internet ate the fruit. The world is too different now… I can’t keep up. And it’s not just because I’m getting older. Things happen faster now. Trends will last half a year when in the past they would have lasted a decade. I hate knowing everything all of the time. I hate that my garden is now a cesspool.

I’m just angry that people on tumblr and lefty spaces online are so blind to their own propaganda, and calling it out is “hate.” Like idk, I guess I expected better from people who are supposed to be ~intellectuals~. Well, if YouTube video essays have taught me anything, style over substance goes a LONG way. And they’re like “oh we’re so compassionate and we want a better future” but they tell everyone to kill themselves and laugh when red states get devastated by natural disasters it's not just that but it's like…. if you're not constantly aware of everything, you're ~part ofthe problem~ #wakeupamerica. silence is violence, blah blah blah. it's just hard because i grew up with a strict dad so learned to be a people pleaser. i'm extremely sensitive to guilt and shame. and all most of the internet has done since 2014 is shame everyone for everything. you're either with Us (good, pure, morally righteous) or you're with Them (problematic, evil). you don't want to be gasp problematic, do you? you don't want to have a callout post made about you and lose all your friends, right? well, keep you nose clean and reblog all the right posts so we know which side you're on an maybe, maybe we'll leave you alone. i have the stress of someone in debt to a mob boss. nah it's more like… i have the stress of everyone in the scarlet letter and im hoping everyone will keep their eyes on the Villain of the Week and leave me alone there's a decent video called "how to radicalize a normie." i say decent because it treats radicalization like a right-wing only issue and the "answer" to right wing radicalization is, of course left wing radicalization. "Even though they're on the bad, evil side, there's still hope because we can get them to our good, morally righteous side!" That kinda bs, and I say bs not in a left vs right way. According to my dad I'm a full blown communist! I'm saying it in the sense that the answer to radicalization isn't "just radicalize them to the other side." That's not at all helpful. You might as well tell an alcoholic who likes jameson to just switch to jack daniels. It's all poison, it's all harmful. ANYWAY, he talks about how most people don't set out to be radicalized, the politics comes to them. That happened to me - but on the left. And I'm sure if I left a comment on his video saying as much, he'd say it didn't happen or say it was a good thing. On tumblr, I came for anime. And for the first year, I got anime. But then I got really intense political stuff. "silence is violence." "i see you not reblogging this." "if you're not angry, you're not paying attention." I was 14-15, sheltered as fuck, I don't know anything about the world but now tumblr is convincing me that I know more about political issues than anyone. And it changed me. And it fucked me up. and I want to get unfucked. But I don't know how. I feel like an internet alcoholic. Like, even if I do stop using it, it will still be there, haunting me, forever, you know? because all my friends use it, not just you guys but irl friends. and the internet is effecting the real world. I miss the days when there was the internet, then there was reality. but now the internet is the reality. That's why I also fell so hard for the [REDACTED] stuff. Tumblr made me think everyone was [REDACTED] because like 99% of tumblr is [REDACTED], and I was worried about it because god help you if you question anything or show the slightest bit of concern. God help you if you're not full steam ahead on everything. I want to escape the matrix. I hate the hypocrisy…. And I hate even more that I’m also a hypocrite. I fall for group think and propaganda but act like I’m above it all. I hate social media but use it every day. YouTube too. I guess that’s why I get so mad when I see them act like that. It reminds me of me. People think the consequences of social media on a teenage girl are like "omg I was feeling good about myself….. but then I saw a model on Instagram… alas. I will never be her. I weep."

But it's more like: Oh my gosh, I just saw a post asking for mutual aid (aka MONEY, BABY) and I scrolled past. What if they died because they couldn’t afford food because I didn’t reblog their post? But what if I DID reblog their post, but it was a scam, and I led my followers to give money to someone who didn’t need it instead of someone who did?

I was hoping to share more examples, but I'm worried someone will misinterpret, and even though anon is off, the anon in my brain is on. always. on. i keep going back to the internet because i keep expecting it to get good again… like how it was. for some reason, i can't accept that it will no longer be my safe space. i wish i had a massive angel to keep me out, or something. like the actual garden of eden. I have to accept that it will never get better. I have not only an addiction to the internet, but to the obsessive thoughts it brings. By wishing it will get better, and continuing to use it, I am chasing a dragon. That is to say, I'm hoping for the same feelings I got from initially using the internet. No one ever catches the dragon. anyway, if you read all that... thank you so much! i'm taking a break from the internet, until mid november at least. maybe by then, it will be better. or not. we'll see.